Chapter 1: The Nerd and The Vigilante
Chapter Text
A/N: Hi all, thanks for reading this! I really hope you enjoy it.
This fic is a depiction of the formation of Avengers in the 1980s (because who doesn’t love that era?), and is in the same continuity as my other X-Men fics (set in the prequel Fox X-Men films universe). You don’t need to read them (as it’s not a cross over and this fic will be self isolated), but if you like character based X-Men stories, please feel free. I just liked the idea of making that universe’s version of the Avengers.
With the continuity explained, please enjoy!
***
As the cool autumn air clung lifted through the park, many of the passers-by were content to enjoy the last hour of sunlight before heading home. Basked in the dark red of the tiring sun, several joggers slowed their pace took catch their breath, readying themselves for the sore run home. Many of the families had already left, with the few stragglers maintaining loud arguments with small children over needing to return home. It was a good evening, filled with the stillness of relaxation gleefully looked for after a long working day.
It was for that relaxation after work that Joshua stayed a tad longer than other park attendants. Even as the last family successfully dragged their daughter towards the carpark, the lanky man stayed within the gentle press of the cool grass. It was quiet. Only the soft sounds of leaves whispering could be heard. It was a good quiet. A welcomed reprieve from the screaming of a loud girlfriend, one with a tendency to pick up kitchenware and hurl them when angered. Just like she had that evening. As Joshua’s mind lingered on the reason that he had fled to the park in the first place, his hand absently stroked the swollen side of his leg. It was quiet. Even as the last glimpses of light turned into a cold evening, he stayed. He preferred the cold. So much so, that he couldn’t find any motivation to return home. He couldn’t, not anymore. Six months after the first pan met his side, he was still in that small, crumbling apartment. He was still with her.
His lip twitched before a long, quiet sigh escaped his lips. He would need to return soon. As much as he would like, he could not sleep in the park. He lacked a pillow, first of all. With a reluctant grimace, he pulled himself up and hissed. The most recent blow was already bruising. Even within the darkness of night, Joshua could make out the purpling of flesh. With staggered and ginger legs, he began to walk upon a thin pass that was lined with many curled and wiry trees. Many small branches cut at his face as he failed to see them in the darkness. Whilst highly irritated, he pressed on.
Crrk.
Joshua looked downwards. He frowned, seeing that he had not stepped on any twig or stick. As he peered up to inspect if he was alone, air left his lungs. His chest tightened as a breathless scream burned in his chest. A searing pain tore roughly through the flesh in his neck as they were pulling rubber. A hot, thick liquid poured onto his chest. His legs trembled before something sharp and skinny pierced his thigh, holding the very bone in place. Joshua whimpered and sobbed, having no strength to fight or shake the unknown force off. He could barely breath. When he did so, he bellowed an agonising scream that no one heard within the lonely, dark park.
***
Several of the students offered lazy claps as the shaking girl finished her presentation on duck social bonds. Two of the girl’s more loyal friends managed smiles as the square-faced brunette slumped into her seat. Her skin was clammy, and her hands were nervously busying themselves by hiding her palm cards in her small backpack. Ms. Waysly did her best to support her young pupil, but even she felt herself resisting several yawns. As far as biology assessments went, the current 12th grade class left something to be desired. Still, at least Betty had completed a report on something that was vaguely related to biology. Flash Thompson’s analysis of ‘Spontaneous Combustion’ was something akin to a madman trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. The dark woman was still curious about if Flash even knew what spontaneous combustion really was or what the curriculum of the subject was.
Her thick, chocolate eyes dipped to the clipboard resting at her side. The next name made her want to groan. She would need coffee after this one. With a smile worthy of an oscar, Ms. Waysly cleared her throat.
“Well done, Betty. Good to know ducks are polyamorous, which wasn’t really…relevant. We’ll chat about later.” She murmured before clearly her throat again, “Peter, you’re up.”
Several of the students did not hide their contempt or dissatisfaction at the next presenter. One or two groaned or, in Flash’s case, tore a page out of their notebook, curled it into a ball, and hurled it at the tall, gangly teen standing in front of them. Without looking away from his palm cards, the brunette boy casually tilted his head to the left by several inches and avoided the ball completely.
“Flash, after class.” His teacher warned, making the blonde mutter, “Want to say that to the rest of the class?”
“No, Miss.” The stocky teen sighed, “Sorry, Miss.”
“Apologise to Peter.”
Flash grimaced slightly and clenched his teeth. With a small, clearly fake, smile, he looked up at Peter.
“Sorry, Porke-I mean Parker.”
The boy at the front of the class didn’t say or do much other than nod awkwardly. He was used to situations such as these, but never knew what to say or do. A habit that could be noted in much of his life. Instead of retorting or forcing himself to actually do anything, the doe-eyed teen looked onto his messily written notes. With a clearing of the throat and a self-motivating whisper, he began.
“The life cycle of the pygmy three-toed sloth is one of…”
By the time he had finished, several of the students were resting their faces on the cool desks. Others were attempting to read books that were hidden on their laps. Flash’s fingers dug into the hard skin of his arms as he did his best not to throw a book at Parker in an attempt to stop the never ending mumbling and murmurs about a creature that he never knew existed. By the end of the presentation, he didn’t care that they existed, either.
With a final, rushed sentence, Peter looked up and smiled with mild discomfort. Silence. Even Ms. Waysly was staring into nothingness. Her mind was captivated by the urge to have caffeine injected into her body to get her through this ill-thought-out profession.
“I’m, uh, done?” Peter shrugged lightly.
His teacher’s eyes snapped open, and she made a show of checking her notes. Few students cared that she wasn’t listening, given barely anyone was listening themselves. She made a few half-hearted notes on Peter’s performance before turning to him.
“Well…done. Very interesting talk on the metabolism of a sloth.” She smiled a little too sweetly, “Well, I think now that we’ve finished the presentations, we can s-”
To everyone’s pleasure, a large bell erupted through Midtown High School’s halls. Before she could open her mouth, many of the dozen students were already filling their bags with their stationary. Before she had finished her second word, most of them had already left. The teacher sighed and shook her head, admittedly grateful that she was off the clock as well. With a disappointed sigh, Peter lazily threw his notes in his backpack and slowly made his way out of the class.
As Peter collected his belongings from his locker, his ear twitched and his back stiffened. Almost immediately, he pushed himself against his locker. A moment later, a disorientated grunt was heard from behind and Peter watched as Flash tripped into the next locker along. Several surrounding students snickered and giggled as the red-faced student picked himself up. He straightened his red and yellow wool sweater and tried his best to appear smug and not embarrassed.
“Real cool presentation, Porker. Gave me a fucking detention, too.” Flash spat.
Peter blinked twice, trying to remember what he had done. Surely, he wasn’t to blame for being almost being hit by a paper ball. Then again, it wasn’t the most petty thing that Flash had blamed him for. That award still went to the incident involving pineapple.
“Flash, I was just reading.” Peter groaned, having returned to filling his bag with his lunchbox, “I’m sorry for you throwing a paper ball.”
“Dude, maybe if you didn’t read such boring ass stuff, I wouldn’t need to. How else am I going to stay sane in that class? Ever think about that?”
Peter did his best not to snort and laugh. Flash was being serious. He genuinely believed he was the victim. The barrel-shaped teen took another step forward as Peter began locking his locker.
“Make me sit through another one of dumbass presentations, and God help you, Porker.”
“Oh, fuck off, Flash.”
The blonde turned to a curly brunette with a long-drawn nose staring at him in an irritated manner. Whilst Peter and Flash wore poorly kept, arguably cheap clothing, the third boy wore straightened and denim clothes that were suited for a modelling catalogue. Even his denim jacket looked as if it had only been worn once. Flash turned his nose up at the wealthy teen and crossed his arms as he leaned into the lockers behind him.
“Rich kid wants to protect his poor pet?”
“My aunt works with your mum.” Peter pointed out, making Flash flush with embarrassment.
With a frustrated grunt, Flash kicked himself off the lockers and began to walk away. Peter rolled his eyes as he flung his backpack around his shoulder. His friend was staring at the direction that Flash was skulking off to, only noticing Peter moving when their shoulders touched.
“You should swing a few at him.” Harry suggested as they walked towards the entrance of the school.
“Harry, the guy is a damn tank. No one is game enough to tackle him in football training.” Peter shook his head softly, “I’m not that dumb.”
Harry let out a grunt of displeasure. Unfortunately for both of the relatively skinny teens, Flash was simply massive for his age. The teen resembled a bear more than a human, with rough patches of facial hair around growing around the seventeen-year-old’s chin and neck. While Harry enjoyed sprinting and swimming, anything that actually involved swinging an arm was foreign to him. To make matters worse, his father had also become aware of several bruises on his arms. When asked for advice, the simple answer was ‘learn to protect yourself’ before being ushered out of his father’s office. It was moments like that which made the teen almost spiteful towards Flash for making him look even more pathetic.
“Someone should screw him up.” Harry muttered, “It’d be good for everyone.”
“Hire an assassin.” Peter suggested, making the both of them laugh.
“Yeah, dad watches the accounts pretty closely. Don’t know how I could get that one off, Pete.” As the pair walked down the wide, stone steps, Harry spotted a familiar black car at the edge of the driving line, “Well, catch you Monday.”
He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. Peter nodded and shrugged a little.
“If Flash doesn’t kill me first.”
“If Flash doesn’t kill you first.” Harry agreed.
The two waved each other off before Peter made the long trek towards the train line. The train was crowded and the air stuffy. With deep effort, the teen was able to squeeze himself into the middle of the noisy carriage and hold onto the bar at the top. Many of the passengers were fellow Midtown students, chatting about their days or plans for the weekend. Feeling the weight of the day suddenly upon him, Peter yawned into his elbow and blinked several times. As he did so, he noticed that he had been absently looking at a girl across the carriage. A rather attractive redhead with dimples in her cheeks. Peter’s mouth twitched as their locked eyes and, almost instantly, his heart raced to pump as much blood through his body as it could. He smiled nervously at her. With utter disinterest, she rolled her eyes and returned to looking outside. With crimson cheeks and a heavy weight in his chest, Peter’s head dropped for the rest of the journey. It wasn’t even the worst reaction a girl had given him, either.
By the time Peter had entered the old apartment building, it was almost evening. The hallways were bustling as people returned from work. A few of them offered Peter a nod or a grunt of acknowledgement as he passed. The teen let out his own grunt as he saw that the elevator was being repaired yet again. The second time that very month. With a tired, resigned sigh, the boy climbed the stairs to the twelfth floor.
His journey eventually came to an end as appeared outside his door. He swung his backpack to his chest and began reaching through its content. As he did so, he heard a door behind him open. Turning, he saw an old, prune-like man with thick glasses staring at him from his makeshift seat that was an overturned bucket. The man raised the screwdriver that he was holding and lazily pointed behind him and into his apartment.
“Parker. The fridge you fixed is out again.” He wheezed with a gravelly voice, “I keep paying you to fix it, not fix it for a day.”
“Did you get that back part I told you to? Or, have you stopped pouring water on the floor?” The old man scoffed and waved the boy off, “Mr. Madley, your fridge’s circuits are exposed. You need to buy the back part or whenever you get water on the ground, it’ll fry again.”
“I’m a seventy-year-old car dealer. I don’t understand what to look for.”
“I circled it in the magaz-”
“Too expensive.” The old man snipped.
Peter chuckled softly as he continued digging through his pack. One day, he would be able to find them in under ten minutes. The old man allowed himself a small, jagged smile.
“School okay?”
Peter shrugged and felt his fingers touch a keyring.
“School’s school, y’know?”
“I know.” The old man chuckled, “That May good?”
“Yeah, she’s good.”
“Good. Good woman.”
“A very good woman.” Peter agreed as he placed his key to the door, “Have a great night, Mr. Madley.”
“You, too, Parker. And I want my damn fridge fixed tomorrow.”
Peter’s eyebrows rose as he did his best not to comment. There was no point in fixing it if the stubborn man was going to keep flooding it every time that he cleaned his floors. As Peter entered the small living room, the delicious small of a stew filled his nose. His shoes were kicked off onto the pile of similar shoes by the door and he quickly walked to see his aunt in the kitchen that oversaw the loungeroom. The mature woman’s greying hair was dishevelled and kept in a poor ponytail as she starred intensely at the small television several metres away. Despite standing by the kitchen counter to stir a very large pot, her entire attention was on the room before her. Peter turned to the television and immediately understood her concern.
A news anchor was standing in a park. Within the background, police tap could be seen hanging between trees, with many officers on the scene. The tagline ‘Sudden attacks reach twenty-three’ blared into the dark room.
“…o idea of if this is an animal attack, or if mutant attacks on humans have once again resumed. Our sources in the NYPD state that there is an investigation into large animal trafficking, as the types of-”
Before Peter could intervene, his aunt had raced to the screen and immediately turned the screen off the moment that she had noticed his presence. As she rose, the round-cheeked woman gave Peter a smile and quickly embraced him.
“How was school, sweetheart?”
“Same old, same old.” Peter smiled before pointing to the television, “Twenty-three?”
Much to Aunt May’s distress, Peter had been following the story closely over the past month. Including the mutant murder spree six months prior, this was one of the most consistent waves of deaths within a single month in a very long time. New York was a big city. Thousands died a week due to countless reasons or causes. Not many were found ripped apart.
“Yes.” Aunt May said through gritted teeth, “Nothing to worry about. It’s probably just circus animals.”
“Or an Italian mafia populated by bears.” Peter suggested, making her tatter and shake her head as she returned to the simple kitchen.
She paused for a moment, staring in her cooking as she thought something over. She bit her lip as she turned to Peter. Before he could collapse onto his bed, she called out to him.
“I…I don’t want you out after dark. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just…The last one was in Elson’s Park and that’s not too far from here.”
Peter frowned at the suggestion and held his hands open in displeasure.
“Harry, Anna and I were planning to-”
“No.” Aunt May cut in with a deep sigh, “I’m not risking it, kiddo.”
Peter’s face scrunched up as he threw his arms out even more.
“C’mon. It’s onl-”
“I’m not repeating myself.” She said sternly, “You can go out in sunlight all you want, but I want you home before it gets dark. If you want to be with your friends, then it needs to be in the day. I think that’s fair.”
Peter bit his tongue and turned to retreat back to his room. He almost kicked the door opened in frustration. There was no point in arranging a trip to the observatory in the day. It wasn’t like he was going off drinking or racing down a highway, like some in his class did. They had been planning the trip for weeks, only adding more salt to the wound.
Aunt May did this often. The moment something in the news kicked off, there was restrictions. At least she was letting him leave the house this time. The last time that there was a spike in gun violence, Peter had to stay indoors for a month. As irritated as he found himself, Peter couldn’t entirely resent his aunt. She had lost her in-laws entirely and lumped with a toddler the same day. Peter’s lip twitched at the thought, finding himself suddenly feeling both annoyed and hurt. As much as she tried to hide it, Aunt May often looked saddened when she looked at Peter. More than a decade later, and the memories were still fresh in the older woman’s mind. It didn’t help that Peter had the jawline and messy hair that her husband and brother-in-law shared.
Dinner was eaten in relative silence. Aunt May was content to allow Peter a cooling off period as he ate, only offering a few questions here or there. After receiving only grumpy answers, she relented and resumed eating her meal in silence. After aiding with the dishes, Peter was quick within his room. Every so often, his ear was pressed to the wall as he waited for the clock to reach around nine-thirty. His fifty-seven-year-old aunt was very habitual. After eating, she would pour herself a glass of red wine and relax on the patched sofa to read. Two hours later, she would be in her room. Half hour after that, she would be asleep. As the teen peered into the evening sky, his mind quickly drifted to the horrific murders on the news. They weren’t animal related. No animal caused deaths in the twenties in under thirty days. Perhaps it was the mutants? He wouldn’t like to think so. It was them, it would no doubt trigger more unrest and possible rioting. No one knew anything, either. A fact that he could perhaps change.
As it neared ten in the evening, Peter knelt before his bed. With eager fingers, he pulled a loose floorboard up and moved it to the side. After grabbing a small bag, he returned the floorboard and quickly removed his clothing. A set of red and blue tracksuit clothes with a poorly sewn balaclava attached to the hood rested in his hands. As he stared at it, his thumbs stroked the painted spider pattern that he had made over a year ago. The suit was ragged and stained in many areas. The sticking throughout was poor but stable enough. With one final look at his watch, the odd attire was placed on pulled on.
He would be fine. He could handle a train. He could sense flies from metres away. A beast or a mutant wouldn’t scare him. At least, he hoped not. He had faced worse, kind off. As he placed a strange, circular object around each wrist, the overthinker analysed all possible causes for the murders and how they could end in his own death. With a shake of the head, he banished the thoughts. He could help and he would be safe. Aunt May would be fine. He could stop the murders, or at least, help in preventing them. He knew it. He had to. It was the main thing pushing him into the windowsill. With a deep breath, he leaped into the air and extended an arm. A moment later, he pressed down on the contraption on his wrist and a silky rope flew forwards, latching onto an apartment building nearby. With a swing and a yelp, the teen was already closer to Elson’s Park.
***
The unnaturally skinny, white-haired man spoke in several hushes. All of which were inaudible to the women seated in front of him in the sterile room of the police station. The albino had been in such a way for nearly thirty minutes, leading to the blonde woman in dark blue sighing and loudly clicking her pen. She made a point to write as loudly as possibly on her clipboard, but it wasn’t enough to draw her client’s attention. At her side, the short woman with jet black hair and oversized purple glasses checked her notes again. They had represented Lonnie Lincoln before for a petty thief case. He had been extremely talkative and cooperative during that matter, which was partly why he was able to walk free that week. Now, the albino man was a withered, silent mess with bloodshot eyes that held a vast emptiness to them. The shorter woman turned to look at her boss, prompting the blonde to continue.
“Mr. Lincoln, we can’t keep going in circles.” Samantha stated in a loud, clear voice, “You were seen running from the crime scene. There’s footage. We need to know what you were doing there and what you were doing with Mr. Reynolds.”
As they watched him slam a hand on the stainless-steel table, both women flinched slightly.
“How many times do I need to repeat myself?” He snapped in a raspy voice.
His face soon grew weak as if he was about to sob. The man’s eyes slumped to his knees as his mouth gaped in saddened disbelief. Jennifer frowned and tried her best to make as subtle a note as she could.
“I…I didn’t kill him, man. No man could do that to another.” Lincoln whispered with a croaking voice, “We…We were fucking around.”
He took a moment before he could say anything else. When he did so, tears were decorating his bone-pale skin.
“It was an animal. Somethin’ like that…”
“What type?” Jennifer asked softly.
“I don’t…A bear? A real skinny-ass bear. It just came at us.” Lincoln stated in a desperate voice, “It went for his fucking throat.”
“What happened next?” Samantha pressed, “In as much detail as you can remember.”
Lincoln paused to regather as much of his memories as he could. He went rigid and quiet once more. Jennifer took off her geekish glasses and offered him a gentle, if not crooked, smile.
“Hey,” She whispered, “It’s okay. We can’t help you if you don’t help us. Please. Help us stop what killed your friend.”
Lincoln let out a breathless life for a moment. Eventually, he dragged his eyes up to look at the small woman and his face grew cold and aged.
“I saw the devil’s pet, and I fucking ran through the alleyway as fast as I could. I ran into several people outside Mike’s Menu. Called Luke’s mum the moment I got home.”
Before either woman could ask more questions, the door to the tiny room suddenly opened. A tall, older man with a greying moustache silently leaned in and tapped his watch. He left the door open as he departed. With a disappointed sigh, Samantha began placing her papers into her briefcase. As she did so, she began repeating a speech that she had given for over three decades.
“We will be called the moment that we can talk again. I will ensure that the department allows you to call me before any interrogation to aid in your representation. I highly recommend that you use your right to silence until we can talk again. Please be safe and know that we’re confident in getting you out of this.”
Lincoln remained silent. Without prompting, he placed his hands on the table and prepared for them to be cuffed once more. Jennifer gave him a sympathetic smile as she made her way outside. As soon as the door was closed, the short woman made an attempt to be at Samantha’s side. She only got three steps in before the woman ran into a bench, earning a hiss and a pained frown as she rubbed her hip.
“Are those glasses even real?” Samantha shook her head whilst Jennifer straightened her ill-fitting business suit.
“Th-they’re very high prescription. Actually, my doctor said if they go any higher, I’m legally classed as-”
“Jen,” Samantha moaned as she hastily filled out the departure end of their visitor’s form, “Watch where you’re going. These cops are pissy enough as it is. We don’t need you kneeing their balls.”
Samantha wasn’t lying. The precinct was swarming like an ant’s nest that was recently exposed to LSD. Many of them appeared tired and sluggish, some even snapping at one another as they asked for various updates and reports. Doors constantly opened and closed as many checked their new schedules or questioned reception for updates. It was almost overwhelming for the introverted woman.
“Another mutilated body was found in Elson’s Park last night.” Samantha explained as she handed the form to the receptionist, “Makes twenty-three.”
“What?” Jennifer asked in disbelief, “And they skill think they’re unrelated?”
Mr. Lincoln’s alleged crime was being the last recorded person to be near Luke Reynolds the night that he was brutally murdered. It took a cleaning crew over three days to clean his entrails from the sidewalk, yet Mr. Lincoln was still the primary suspect. A shy man who Jennifer doubted was even a mutant. She wasn’t surprised how desperate the NYPD had become in turning to suspects, however. So few of the brutal attacks had any actual evidence behind them, aside from the remains, that many captains and heads of department were panicking. Murderers often left clues. Animals left tracks. Whatever was ripping man limb from limb left nothing but the remains of their prize.
“I think it’s not our job to make those observations outside of helping our client.” Samantha warned with a raised brow, “There’s barely anything definitive on Lincoln. We can press on that. They have the fact he was there, that there’s footage of him running, and witnesses of him covered in blood, on their side.” The mature blonde explained as she led Jennifer through the entrance of the station, “Going to be a fun one, that’s for sure.”
“Think he did it?”
Samantha eyed Jennifer closely for a moment as she pulled out a cigarette. The night-time crowds were sparse for a New York evening. All it took was a few stories and gruesome depictions of human remains, and few were willing to risk the darkness. It was a welcomed change for the older woman with a migraine.
“I think we don’t ask those questions, and we defend our client either way.” She replied as she hit the stick and took a long hit, “It’s not our place to judge. That’s an entirely different job in the law.”
Jennifer didn’t agree in the slightest, but she was wise enough to know not to start an argument with the sharp woman. Many had tried to challenge Samantha, both in the courts and in their casual lives, and few had succeeded in winning. Even those that did often came out damaged after Samantha was allowed her rounds. It took Jennifer less than a fortnight to learn that her boss was not someone idly contradict, especially in public.
The blonde turned to the shorter woman as she took another hit.
“Well, I’ll look over this on the weekend. I’d suggest you take a few days off with some friends but…” She drifted off with a shrug.
“But what?”
“You don’t have any.” Samantha gave her a weary smile, “Be safe, kiddo. Finding new associates is hard these days.”
The meek lawyer found herself in a sullen mood for many reasons as she walked to her apartment. Lincoln was innocent. While many of her previous clients said the exact same thing with even more conviction, they had been lying outright. In most cases, Jennifer could tell after only one meeting. For some reason, Jennifer knew that Lincoln wasn’t lying. The man had only committed small crimes. Murdering a close friend without known cause is a large step up for a thief. Yet, that didn’t explain his descriptions. Some clients had suffered shock, particularly the victims of abuse. Lincoln was too stable for those signs, though. Maybe, he had seen a strange mutant. Jennifer shifted at the thought. The last thing that New York needed was another species conflict between humans and mutants. As she pondered on the matter, she found herself growing very interested in what Lincoln could have seen. More so than in most cases.
Eventually, the woman found herself by a small convenience store selling some tulips. Taking a pair, she entered the store and stood behind the small line of evening customers. Most were buying smokes or a cheap beer. Anything to take the edge off a Friday evening was worse the price in many sets of eyes.
As Jennifer waited, she began to impatiently sway. Her eyes drifted to the fridges and the snack stacks, making her lips dry with a desire to buy more mint ice-cream. She already had a tub, but is one tub ever enough? The woman swayed a tad too far and almost collided with the man beside her. Her cheeks reddened as she stood back. He was an attractive one. Thick, dark hair with a nicely trimmed beard. His arms weren’t too shabby, either.
“Sorry.” She said as she cleared her throat.
“No worries.” He said simply as he shrugged.
She turned around. A moment later, she found herself chewing her lip as her eyes grew. She had spoken to someone outside of work. Progress. In the words of her counsellor, progress can always be expanded upon. Lord knew, she needed it. With a clearing of the throat and an overly exaggerated motion of putting her hand on her hips, the round-cheeked woman turned back once more.
“Noticed you’re wearing a Battlestar Galactica shirt.” She nodded, “Bit of a BSG fan, myself.”
The man frowned in confusion for a split second before looking down at the spaceship on his shirt.
“Oh.” He acknowledged, “Yeah, I just got this on sale.”
“Oh.” Jennifer tried her best not to sound disappointed, “It’s worth a watch.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He said weakly before nodding ahead, “Ah, you’re next.”
Jennifer blushed again and turned to pay for the flowers. As she finished collecting her coins, she turned back one last time.
“Have a good night.”
The man gave a short smile and an uncomfortable wave.
“You, too, stranger.”
Progress. She was happy with that, even if it didn’t lead to much. At least she didn’t start gagging when the nerves hit her. As confident as she was in a courtroom, she floundered in any other social setting. Being an only child with emotionally withdrawn parents and very cruel school peers had a habit of doing that to a person. Still, she had spoken to someone. She was happy with that.
The walk to the mausoleum didn’t take too much longer than ten minutes. The faded stone building was eerily silent and dark as she stared at it. Almost sheepishly, she turned her head side to side to ensure that she was alone. A moment later, she small frame was sinking through a set of loose bars in the gated fence. The day that they installed cameras would no doubt infuriate her. It would mean the end of her silent relaxation sessions.
As she strolled through the marble archway, she had no need to eye the names carved into the walls. She had come to know them for the last year or so during her almost nightly trips to the cemetery. A moment or so later, she stood before one in particular. One that she placed the tulips beside in a small flower hook, to rest beside the many other flowers.
“Hey, Bruce.” She murmured as she stroked the engraving, “Had a good day? Yeah, was decent.” She sighed as she sat on the stone bench behind her.
The woman hummed a small note to herself as she pulled out several notes written during her time with Lincoln.
“New case,” She murmured as she tried her best to read in the dark, “Alleged murder. Another one…” She drifted off.
Twenty-three in less than month. What on Earth was happening to the city? With a shake of the head, she squinted at the overly neat handwriting. With a groan, she gave up almost as soon as she started.
“Could you see in the dark?” She asked the engraving with a snort, “Never really knew what you could do.” She admitted softly as she put her notes away, “Except being contagious.”
As she muttered the last point, she idly stroked her inner elbow. The same place where a blood infusion had been injected after a car collided with the borderline blind woman. Jennifer came to a pause as the sharp memory of seeing a blur violently touch her body struck her. It was easily the second worst memory that she held. The accident took a lot of her blood. A very rare type of blood with only a few known people that possessed it, most of which were her immediate family. One member of which, somehow, managed to sneak into her medical room. Before anyone had become any wiser, the unconscious woman had the transfusion conducted before the doner had disappeared once more. No one knew who it was for months. The only reason that Jennifer guessed was due to a very specific habit that was exhibited with maternal cousin, Bruce. The slight, barely noticeable issue of shifting into a violent, green monster when irritated. Discovering that she had inherited his mutation for the first time was the worst memory of her life.
Her eyes flicked back up to the name before her. The name of a publicly wanted monster that had been classed as dead for nearly three years. Jennifer had not seen him for two years before that. Still, he was alive. At least, she thought that he was alive. He was able to sneak into a hospital without being detected only a year prior. Jennifer didn’t even mind his affliction from a horrid gamma experiment. In fact, part of her just wanted advice and help. Bruce was one of the few friendly people in her life and the only person that could understand the fear of being angry. The cold terror in the spine whenever one felt their heartrate increase. A social loneliness enforced by a living a very unique life. Just being able to talk would be more than enough.
The bitter, saddened thoughts followed Jennifer home that evening. As she neared her apartment door, she noticed her neighbour Eddie preparing to leave. She slowly raised her hand in an attempt to wave, only for the pudgy man to have already begun walking away. With a sigh, Jennifer walked home. The sound of excited yelps and snorts flooded the small apartment. With a genuine smile, she put her briefcase on the table and kneeled. The white pug, Maxxie, ran into her arms and eagerly lapped at her cheek and chin. With a giggle, she scooped her pet into her arm and strolled towards her fridge.
“Chew any bras today? You better not be lying.” She warned the excited dog.
The two ate dinner in front of the television. As Jennifer licked her fork of any traces of steak, her eyes were glued to the blue man with a light disk on the screen. Maxxie, having finished her meal, hopped onto her lap. With a sigh, Jennifer placed her plate on the floor and began to stroke the greedy dog’s ears.
“God, these names are crap.” She murmured as Tron hurled his disk at Sark for the third time.
As much as she loved science fiction, the nerd had her limits. As she walked to switch off the device, her mind drifted back to Lincoln and the other accused. Twenty-three deaths. A fact that didn’t sit well with the woman. Maxxie watched as her companion walked to the small stack of papers attached to various cases in recent weeks. While she had only taken on two clients in that time, she kept her eyes open for trends. In the hope of finding one, she pulled out her old tourist map of New York City that her deceased mother had sent when she had first moved to the big city.
She placed a pen on Elson’s Park before turning to the notes on other accused members of the public. Three in Hell’s Kitchen. Another near the old subway line. One after the other, almost all of Jennifer’s spare pens were placed on the standard paper sized map. She grunted. There was no line or circle or any other geographical trend. It didn’t help that the map was mostly populated by cheesy bars or iconic sites to visit. Perhaps, there was something that all sites had in common. By common logic, there had to be. Nothing was ever truly spontaneous.
She turned to Maxxie and gave her an apologetic smile.
“Will you hate me if I go for a night walk alone?”
Maxxie barked in clear displeasure.
***
Jennifer winced slightly as she stretched her arms upwards and leaned to the side, feeling a sharp pull amongst her side muscles. She was often self-conscious about exercising. She wasn’t exactly chubby, but she was clumsy. Clumsy enough to have caused several injuries in others during her high school life. Her gym leotard, a dark purple and blue colour, also made her shy. It wasn’t revealing, but it certainly clung to her tightly. But, at least it was dark and obscured her skin. In the darkness of night and hidden at the back of an old alley, she could finish her preparations calmly.
A moment of cracking joints later, and Jennifer was ready. She rolled her shoulders back several times. Her breathing slowed into a cool pace. A moment later, her fist collided with her open palm and cracked. She let out a growl as she felt her skin flush with a strange heat. Her muscles tightened and relaxed over and over. Her vision cleared and sharpened as she noticed that she was rising. A pained gasp escaped the woman as she clutched the wall in support. A wall that was punctured within a second. Within a matter of five seconds, the ordeal was over. The short, thin-limbed woman was taller by almost three feet. Her muscles threatened to rip the stretchy material of her attire. As she panted, she withdrew her hand from the hole in the wall. An emerald hand.
If the police were at a loss, perhaps she wouldn’t be. She could help. That had been the mindset every time the woman had shifted in the evening. While most nights on the prowl had only ended with a thief or two being thrown through a window, sometimes Jennifer had actually aided in serious ways. Well, she had stopped one large drug deal between different sects of the mafia. A transaction that she had come across entirely by accident. Still, she was a vigilante by definition. Her actions had saved lives, after all. Even if they were terrified of the giant green thing near them, causing them to run faster than they were when the gunmen were aiming at them.
As she pulled her thick, curled hair into a ponytail, Jennifer smiled to herself. She wouldn’t trip that evening, nor would she run into anything. She wasn’t Jennifer Walters. She wasn’t shy or antisocial. She wasn’t anxious or nervous. She was…She was, well, better. Taller. Stronger. Better eyed, even. She could solve the murders. She eyed the edge of the roof of the building that she stood beside. She caught her breath. She leaned back. She leapt.
The uncoordinated giant rolled onto the paved roof with an annoyed huff. Three seconds in, and her leotard was already dirty. She shook her head and pulled out her marked map. Elson’s Park would be crawling with cops. The third most recent case, a body found near the waterways, would probably be quieter. Having orientated herself, Jennifer took off sprinting and leapt once more. This time, she landed on her feet.
The cemented was still stained with a dried brown colour. Even in the darkness, Jennifer could make out the extensive blood marks by the edge of the walkway, just under the bridge. She eyed her surroundings carefully, before kneeling to inspect the marks. The area was just a normal underpass for the bridge. Few, except for the homeless, ever came there as it large a scenic pathway or a park. Still, someone had come. Two people.
She craned her next to look at the large stone block beside her, one that was the base of the bridge’s edge. Police tape still lined much of the area. Hidden behind several such strands of the bright yellow substance was an opened entrance to the sewers. Jennifer quirked a brow as she rose and pulled out her map once more. Were they connected by the sewer line? It was a pretty unhelpful idea, though. Manholes and open exits, such as the one in front of her, existed beyond count in the city. It was an angle, perhaps. More than nothing.
For the next several minutes, the woman conducted her inspection. Large indents in the pavement rested near the water’s edge. Scratch marks cut into the concrete ground in three places, each fairly distant from the others. A lot of blood stains.
Jennifer took as many notes as she could. Placing her tiny notebooks in her rear pocket, the emerald woman prepared to visit the next site on the map, the alley beside an old bookstore. She braced herself and leapt into the air.
The waterside echoed with the sound of a violent crash. Jennifer gritted her teeth as she felt herself roll along the pavement. Something was clinging to her midsection. It was clinging tight. Before she peer down, the emerald giant let out a pained yelp as something pierced her side. The lanky, pale thing at her side clutched her body even tighter as the pain mounted. However, as Jennifer pulled a well-formed arm back for a blow, she heard a gagging sound. Suddenly, the being let her go and hastily crawled backwards. The motion allowed Jennifer to jump to her feet and get a good look at the creature.
It was human. Or, at least, appeared to be so. It was a tall, average built man with oily dark hair that shone in the moonlight. His jogging clothes were torn and saturated in blood, both fresh and old. He was gagging violently. Jennifer’s mouth gaped as she watched the man spitting out her blood and violently wiping his tongue as he desperately tried to rid himself of her taste. Her radiated blood must have had some potency, given that he was vomiting.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She snapped.
It garnered his attention. The man glared at her venomously with dark, glassy eyes. He was an unnaturally skinny man, as the skin pulled tight over every muscle in his face as he growled. His stained lips curled, revealing four fanged teeth. Jennifer’s mouth gaped even more as she tentatively touched the bleeding side of her stomach.
“Oh, shit.” She whispered.
She had watched enough films to know what a fanged monster that drank blood was. First mutants, now vampires. The woman took a step back, suddenly questioning why she was even in the crime scene to begin with. What had she been hoping to achieve? She couldn’t fight a vampire.
Her uneasy posture was noticed by the creature in front of her. Sensing a weakened target, the man kicked off the ground with enough force that it sounded like gunfire. Jennifer rolled to the floor, wincing as the pain erupted in her side. It was enough to dodge the enemy, however. With a clear shot, a green fist collided with the side of the man’s jaw. A sickening crack made Jennifer want to gag as she leapt back to gather more space. The man turned to her. With a blank stare, he lamely pushed at his slanted jaw and made it click several times. He spat out a dark substance before hissing again.
He charged once more with a speed hard to see. Jennifer was caught unaware again. The woman cried out as her back throbbed in agony. The sides of her vision were framed by the broken wall that she had just caused. The man’s hand was upon her throat. Her fist was within his gut. She watched as he skidded backwards. As fast as he was down, he had risen. With another growl, he leapt to the side and attempted to flip behind her. Jennifer spun around in time and caught both of his hands. Large, sharp teeth clapped at her face as they begging to taste her neck. With a grunt and some effort, the taller woman was able to flip the grip that she had on his arms. Using the new angle, she spun on her feet and yanked him into the side of the wall. Still holding him with one arm, her fist embedded itself into the back of the man’s head.
She felt his body slacken. With caution, she let his wrist go and bounced backwards. The distance was desired by the both of them. As Jennifer caught her breath, she watched as the man’s skull lifted and evened itself, removing any trace of the colossal belting that it just received. To her horror, he rose once more. He even smirked.
The being raced at her again, this time sliding under her fist at the perfect moment. Jennifer easily lost her balance and was at risk of falling forwards. It was only the vampire holding the back of her neck that held her in place. However, his hissing and growling became muffled. Jennifer was thrown to the ground as a panicked sound escaped from behind her. Something thick was covering the man’s mouth. Before Jennifer could stand and get a closer look, something wrapped around her wrist. Attaching her arm to the ground was a thick, sticky string. Jennifer almost gagged as she touched its gooey nature. Something tapped one of the walls nearby, and Jennifer turned to try and locate its source.
“So,” A male voice clicked, “Nice evening, all. Not too chilly, not too hot. My kinda weather.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed at the lanky figure on the side of the foundation block. From what she could tell, he was in a red and blue tracksuit of some sort. He was tall, that much was clear, as well. That, and the fact that he was hanging vertically by only putting his palm to the surface. The gagged creature eyed him wearily as he tried to gauge the new situation that he found himself in.
“Can I ask which one, if not both, of you are the murder?”
Jennifer blinked twice at the question. With a bewildered and frustrated scoff, she angrily pointed to the creature in front of them.
“I don’t know. Maybe the one with vampire teeth!” She shouted.
The figure in red slowly turned to inspect the creature. His hand cupped his masked mouth in either fear or excitement.
“You’re a freaking vampire? Holy shit!” The man turned back to Jennifer, “What about you? Uh, his ghoul or something?”
“A ghoul?” Jennifer shook her head before muttering, “I don’t have time for this. Look, I’m trying to investigate here. Get this…stuff off me now.”
The red rolled his head side to side for a second and made an apologetic hand gesture.
“See, don’t really know if this is an elaborate trick or somethin’. Could be a trap. Theatre in the park. That kinda thing. Why don’t you tell me why-”
The creature growled victoriously as it ripped the substance off its mouth. Jennifer’s eyes widened and she hastily attempted to pull her arm free of the sticky rope. The man lunged at her. A moment afterwards, he was crashing into the pavement. The red man easily jumped several metres into the air and stuck himself onto another wall. As the man rose, his red opponent attempted to rope him to the ground. A futile effort as he easily outran the sticky strands. Jennifer watched as the creature ran up the wall and slashed a clawed hand at the red figure. With surprising grace, the red figure slid to the side and rotated. His knee cracked into the man’s side, but it wasn’t enough. With a pained growl, the man spun as well. He latched onto the red figure’s neck and held on tightly.
It was only the force of a chunk of concrete colliding with one’s head that disorientated him. Jennifer, free of being stuck to the ground despite the rope stick being around her wrist, ran towards them. The red figure took his chance to immediately leap away just as Jennifer leapt at the monster. Her fist knocked the creature into the air just as two strands of rope clung to its body. With a loudly groan, the red figure yanked it to the ground and the pair watched as the ground split around the monster’s body.
It released a breathless gasp and lazily rolled onto its stomach. Jennifer winced as she heard the disgusting sounds of bones rejoining themselves. As the pair attempted to stand either side of the man, he took what chance that he still had. With startling speed, he ran into the sewer. The red figure immediately attempted to run after him. A gentle, yet firm, hand grabbed his arm.
“Ever seen horror films?” She asked softly, “Never go in the sewers with the monsters.”
The red figure sighed in annoyance but relaxed himself. As he prepared to make a sarcastic jab, he turned to look at her properly for the first time. His breathing halted and became a cough. She was stunning. Her hair was a dark raven, with tinges of emerald. Her eyes were as green as her skin, but just as soft and warm. Her jawline was strong and sharp. The fact that her outfit was so tight and revealed rather pronounced parts of her body made his cheeks redden and his hands fidget.
“I’ve seen a few.” He said before quickly deepening his voice, “You hunt vampires, huh?”
“Not many.” The tall woman shrugged, “First one.”
“Really?” The man asked as he crossed his arms, “That’s a weird coincidence.”
“What is?”
“It’s my first time hunting a vampire, too.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes, but reluctantly found herself smiling at the man’s humour. She was talking to someone. Two people outside of work in one day. Her counsellor would be so proud of her.
“You do this often?” He asked, drawing her attention again.
“Ah, not often? I mean, I’ve stopped a few crimes. Major mafia drug deal. Stuff like that.” She smiled shyly, “Bit a local helper.”
“Huh. A fellow vigilante. Cool.” He tapped his chest, “Been doing this for a year.” He pointed at her, “You’re the first other super person I’ve seen. Well, aside from the X-Men. I don’t think they’ll let me join. Not a mutant.”
“Huh. But…the sticky stuff…”
“Made it.” He eagerly pointed to a metal brace around his wrist, “You? You always so, uh, green?”
Jennifer blushed and self-consciously played with her fingers.
“Human. Sometimes, not all. You stick to walls and that’s it?”
“Pfft. I can, like, punch super strong. I’m fast. Agile. I can feel things before they happen. Beat that.”
Jennifer chuckled at the competitive edge to the man’s voice. Without side a word, she turned and pointed to the torn side of her leotard.
“Can you heal within two minutes?”
The man’s eyes were too fixated on seeing her exposed side to really understand the question. Sensing something had been asked, he cleared his throat.
“Faster than average, not two minutes.” He suddenly jumped a little and offered her his hand, “I’m Spider-Man, by the way.”
“Spider-Man?”
“Spider-Man.” He nodded, “You?”
“Person.”
“Person?”
“Need to figure out a cool name.”
“Emerald Dynamo? The Green Machine? I’d say Green Goblin, but that’s already taken.” He said with some distain.
“I’ll…get back to you on that.” She smiled.
Her smile turned awkward as they stood in silence, neither knowing what else to say. Jennifer was not used to talking this long without mentioning some form of legal jargon or element of a case. With a slight hum, Spider-Man put his hands on his hips.
“So, think that thing’s killing everyone?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted, “A vampire appears to a scene of a gruesome murder. Seems odd.”
“Putting it lightly.” Spider-Man chuckled, “I, uh…I’ve kinda been tracking all of the cases.”
“All twenty-three? Same here. I can’t find any link. Not a lot of the victims had a lot in common.” Jennifer sighed in a defeated manner, “Not even where they died. There’s no secret formula or anything. At least, not on my end of research. You?”
Spider-Man paused for a moment, becoming suddenly aware that he was somewhat underprepared for this. She had made a map. All he had done was note down what the news had shown.
“More than me.” He admitted as he scratched the back of his hood, “Though…Nah, it’s stupid.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
“Well,” The man started with an insecure edge, “The news says twenty-three, right? Well, the news only reports what it knows or wants to report. Who’s to say that there aren’t more deaths like these? Ones that the cops are keeping on the hush. So,” He straightened himself, “I thought…about breaking into the NYPD server. Seeing what is actually on file.”
Jennifer’s eyebrows were almost touching her hair. Her mouth was gaped.
“Do you have any idea how serious of a crime that is?” She whispered.
“Yep.”
“Can you even do it without being caught.”
“Yep.”
“Pfft.”
“No, I know I can. I, uh, on one occasion, kinda accidently, mostly on purpose, may have, in way, hacked some military servers without being caught.”
Jennifer eyed him with horror lacing her features. Even talking to him could get the lawyer in trouble. He was looking at almost twenty-five years and possibly being branded a traitor to the state. Spider-Man shifted shyly and decided to continue before she judged him too harshly.
“It was a prank?”
“How are you not in jail? Where did you learn this stuff?”
“Tony Stark gave an interview where he kinda mentioned some books. I read them. I used them. I broke into the-”
“You don’t need to repeat it.” The lawyer hissed, “Look, I don’t own a computer, anyway, so-”
“I found an old one at a junkyard.” Spider-Man shrugged, “I use it when my au…When my roommate isn’t in. I hid it in an old warehouse where they throw heaps of parts and stuff.” Even behind his mask, Jennifer could see him smile in excitement, “Let’s go. We can try to work out a map of the real murders.”
“Spider-Man. We don’t even know if there are any more murders. That’s a massive leap for possible charges.”
“I know how to hide my steps.” He waved her off, “Look, you coming or not? Because I’d rather not get eaten by that thing.” He shifted on his feet and lowered his tone, “Besides, we make a decent team, right? Why not try…working together on this? Two is better than one.”
Jennifer raised her brow as she watched the man awkwardly kick at the ground gently. He had a point. Even if she did find the creature again, she clearly couldn’t fight it. Not alone. While she was decent at fighting, for an amateur, she had no computer skills at all. Having someone that did nearby would be a major benefit. If nothing else, all she had left was to resume visiting all of the crime scenes, and there was no guarantee that she would find anything there, either.
“If we get caught-”
“We won’t.” He promised.
***
Peter smiled as he gestured to large, cold warehouse before them. The woman in front of him barley concealed her lack of interest as they stepped inwards. In her eyes, it could easily be mistaken for a rubbish pile. Computer parts, clothes, broken toys and even adult items were thrown around in uneven piles. For Peter, though, it was a source of opportunity for gear and items to repair his always breaking webslingers. His small corner was filled with two tiny lamps, a fluffy seat that he found and a small desk with the desired computer plugged in. It was a bulky thing, much unlike the slimmer models that Stark Industries were throwing out. Still, it wasn’t like Aunt May could afford one, so he was happy with his blessings.
He possibly offered the green woman the chair and blushed as she thanked him. It was almost comical seeing the seven-foot woman trying to fit in such a small seat. He chuckled to himself as he powered up the loud device.
“Something funny?” She asked innocently.
“Hmm? Oh. Just…How stretchy is that gym thing?”
“Stretchy enough. Guess I’ll need a new one.” She muttered as she patted the tear on the side.
“Ah, it’s fine. Nothing like showing the side to make your enemies run in terror.”
“I’m not sure if that’s how it works.” She chuckled, “Not as impressive as your pyjamas.”
Peter rolled his eyes but self-consciously tugged at the cord of his hoodie. The woman watched closely as he hastily pressed many of the thick keys in front of her. As he did so, the fans kicked in and vibrated the table.
“The Milenum Falcon is quieter than this thing.”
Peter froze and slowly turned to her. He watched as she blushed in embarrassment and looked away.
“Star Wars. It’s a St-”
“I prefer the Slave I.” Peter turned back to the screen, “Not that the Falcon’s bad. It’s just…clunky.”
The woman snorted and crossed her arms.
“You’re probably one of those stuffy people who think Empire is the greatest film in science-fiction.”
“Return’s better.” The woman’s eyes widened and her lip twitched, “Sure, it has the Ewoks, and Han doesn’t really do anything. But, it has the Jabba stuff. And it has that really dope scene where Luke los-”
“Loses his shit and rails on Vader.” The woman finished with a bright smile, “Exactly! Exactly. It has the best arc for Luke.”
Peter found himself grinning wider than he had in a very long time. She was hot, she could fight and she knew her stuff about films. His smile faltered when he reminded himself of the age difference. With the feeling of a saddened puppy, he turned back to his monitor. He leaned over to her, making her frown and shift away shyly as he unknowingly pressed his side to her shoulder. After several minutes of waiting for the slow connection to take place, he straightened himself. The woman grew uneasy as she saw Peter cup his face and stare at the screen without speaking for several seconds. The jade woman tried her best to understand what the screen was saying but it was just endless lines of code.
“We get caught?”
“Not…Not really. Well, not at all. It’s just…Want some interesting trivia? Who built the NYPD security system?” Before she could answer, he tapped to a specific line of code, “Tony Stark.” He paused, “We’re gonna need to get through Tony Stark’s coding.”
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hoped you all enjoyed that. Next chapter will introduce a certain alcoholic living in his father’s shadow and two married geniuses figuring out what path to take as they get older.
If you have any suggestions or feedback, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. They’re really fantastic to see.
Otherwise, have a brilliant end to the week!
Fact of the chapter: An octopus has three hearts, two for the gills and one for pumping blood to the rest of the body.
Chapter 2: The Fallen Son and the Wayward Lovers
Chapter Text
With a spluttered groan, the dishevelled man pulled his head from the workbench that had acted as his oily bed. The sick feeling in his gut was only beaten by the sharp, cutting pain that bit at his brain. The echoing pain was enough to prevent the man from fully stretching. Even his yawn was cut off with a grimace. Wiping his greasy hands on his sleeveless shirt, he scanned his messy bench with glassy eyes. An unimpressed scoff left him as he noticed that the whiskey bottle was empty. As was the tequila. He dropped both bottles at their places near the unorganized collection of tools and parts. Before he could scan the concrete floor, he felt his stomach shift upwards. There was a mad, yet broken, dash to the small bathroom by the stairs. He crumpled to his side and lifted his face to the bowl before heaving violently. After several moments of spitting and wiping his face, the man flushed and rose to his shaking feet.
Tony smiled sarcastically at the mirror in front of him, only giving brief concern to the swollen state of his eyes, or the clammy appearance that his skin gave, or the oily and unkempt nature of his messy hair and beard. He winced as he felt another wave of pain slide through his brain. His fidgeting fingers tapped at the bathroom cabinet and withdrew a box of painkillers that were dry swallowed with a grimace. He closed the cabinet, seeing his reflection once more. Tony Stark. The prodigal son with stained clothes and hair uncut for months. He shook his head and stumbled back into his basement. With renewed desire to ignore his reflection with the help of alcohol, his eyes hungrily scanned through the vintage cars and parts for another bottle. His search came to an end as he found a bottle of forgotten whiskey underneath underwear that he had not seen in weeks.
“Given that it’s noon, I suggest some solid food for once.”
Tony mumbled something as a tall, weasel-shaped man slowly made his way down the stairs. In contrast to Tony, the man was very well dressed in a dark suit with a bright orange tie. Within his aging grip rested a silver serving tray that was placed to Tony’s side. It was some shake with toast and eggs. The smell made the hungover man’s stomach growl desperately as his butler stepped back.
“Eat.” He said stiffly.
Tony said nothing as he practically collapsed into the seat in front of the food. With some effort, he managed to operate his numb arms and shovel the food into his mouth. As he focussed on his meal, his butler withdrew a plastic bag from his pocket and began to collect the many empty bottles polluting the basement.
“I am sure that this is a safety habit, sir.” He noted as he inspected the bottle of tequila, “You’re lucky that we don’t have neighbours. The noise complaints alone would take away your money.”
“The joys of buying out a bay, Jarvis.” Tony muttered.
“Mister Rhodes called this morning, sir.” Jarvis’ face turned sharp, “Shall I tell him that the Department of Defence will need to wait yet again?”
Tony glared at Jarvis as he wiped his mouth. Had it not been for the fact that Jarvis had worked for his family since before his birth, and the fact that butlers willing to deal with his personality were hard to find, Tony would have fired him by now. It was too early in the afternoon for lectures, especially while his head still ached.
“Not interested. Tell them what you want.”
“Mister Stark,” Jarvis sighed, “They’re offering a much higher fund than usual. One that could put Stark Industries in a less…problematic position.”
“Please.” Tony sneered as he leaned back and crossed his arms, “The military is just sad that EssexCorp collapsed under international charges, and no one is dumb enough to give Hammer or A.I.M. jack shit.”
He rose to his feet and stretched once more. As he did so, Jarvis could not help but wrinkle his nose at the smell wafting from the man.
“When is the last time that you bathed, sir?”
“I don’t know.” Tony shrugged sleepily.
“When was the last time that you left this basement?”
“I don’t know.” He repeated.
Jarvis gritted his teeth. Turning his attention to cleaning up the last breakfast, he could not help himself as he continued.
“May I ask what it is that you’re doing down here for three weeks?”
Tony glared at him once more. With still stiff arms, the man gestured to his messy workbench. An obscene hybrid of several car parts, half a computer and something Jarvis believed was from a missile guidance system rested amongst some tools.
“Imagine an arcade game. One that could be plugged into a T.V. and cou-”
“Like the Sega.” Jarvis observed calmly.
There was a lingering silence for several moments as Tony cycled through many thoughts, none of them pleasant.
“What?” Tony asked briskly.
“A home video game system. Like what Sega released…four months ago?”
Tony’s mouth flared and shut rapidly several times as he tried to filter through several unpleasant emotions. He had been working on that project for weeks. Many drunken evenings were spent chuckling about cutting into an entirely new market. As far as ideas that came from dreams, it had honestly seemed like one of the better ones.
“Perhaps, sir, if you actually left the house and saw what the competition has begun offe-”
“Do…Does the console play music as well?” Tony asked with a slight pant.
“I don’t believe so, no.” Was the condescending response.
“Good.” Tony began to tap his chin rapidly as he thought, “We just…We need to include a cassette player. W-We make it a music system, as well. Do…Does anyone do that?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Jarvis sighed, “Perhaps another route is the best to take.” He suggested, nodding to the collecting circle from within Tony’s chest.
Tony rolled his eyes and said nothing. There had been many discussions on the topic, none going anywhere. Much like the original projects themselves. Jarvis smiled tightly as Tony began to tinker with his parts and the butler attempted a new angle of approach.
“Maybe it would be worth asking your R&R associates tonight about the music system idea?”
“Tonight?” Tony asked absently as he stared at his already failed creation.
“The Annual Stark Young Innovators Awards. The gala that you started when you first took the company’s helm. The charity event? You were asked to judge six months ago. And the year before that. And the year before that.”
“Too busy.” Tony shook his head as he sat and began to tear open his console, “Maybe next year.”
Having focussed on unscrewed several components, the bleary-eyed man did not notice the sounds of footsteps next to him. The screwdriver dropped his screwdriver and jumped softly as he heard Jarvis speak into his ear.
“I highly recommend that you attend, given that after last night, there’s more alcohol in the house.”
“What?!” Tony’s voice was bitter as he flung around to look at his butler, “I didn’t drink it all!”
“Didn’t you?” He asked as he lifted the bag of bottles, “My apologies, sir. But I can’t seem to find a single drop anywhere in this house.”
Tony rose with a glare. He huffed and stormed away, pretending to find some excuse for inspecting a pristine motorcycle by the edge of the basement. He had developed many uncomfortable habits in the last year. Pacing and the constant need to move when stressed was amongst them. Jarvis smirked as he collected his things and turned to walk to the stairs.
“Trick won’t work.” Tony called, “You can’t use alcohol to get me out.”
Jarvis stopped. With a turn, he looked at the man that he had known since he came into the world with a mix of pain and frustration.
“Sir, I would love it if you didn’t respond to alcohol. I would love nothing more.”
The basement stilled with silence as Jarvis left. It had not been the first time in recent months that the topic of Tony’s drinking had caused silence. Sometimes, Jarvis was soft and gentle. Other times, they argued fiercely. It all ended the same, with Jarvis leaving silently as Tony busied himself with a car or bike.
With a bittered sigh, Tony stopped his forced inspection of the bike and scratched the back of his head. Perhaps leaving the house wouldn’t be the worst. He would need a shower first, however. People tended to avoid those that stunk. People. People with cameras. The billionaire’s fingers tapped along his thighs as his back became rigid. He would be fine. He had been surrounded by literally thousands before. He could handle a science fair for kids. He cleared his mouth as he walked towards the stairs. Maybe it would be worth seeing in Jarvis really had thrown out all of the alcohol.
***
Tony’s agitation and anxiety never left, it only increased. While he felt somewhat happy that Jarvis was smiling at him as he assisted the grown man with his tie, his mind continued to link to the thousands of eyes that he was about to meet. Cameras. Microphones. Chattering and shouting. It was enough to make Tony clutch the armrest of his limousine tightly. He knew the streets that they were now circling. They were close to the hotel. His breathing hitched as he tried to loosen the top button on his red suit.
“You okay, Mister Stark?” The large, bald driver called.
“Just a lil…” He paused and licked his lips, “Know any decent bottle shops?”
The driver’s eyes furrowed and turned back to the road.
“Sir, I was instructed not to-”
“How old’s Mikey?”
There was a pregnant pause within the car as the evening lights of Long Island encased them.
“Just gone seventeen.” Was the cautious reply.
“Want a full college trip paid for?” Tony smiled the best that he could as the panic flooded his system, “Whiskey. A bottle of whiskey.”
As the car door opened, Tony winced at the sounds of thousands of cameras and interviewers conducting their work. His driver offered him a hand, but the man smiled groggily and waved it off. With sea legs, he stood and straightened his crimson suit before looking at the entrance to the hotel. The garden area had been lined with a fancy carpet and the trees and shrubs had many small lamps within them. Behind thick ropes stood an army of the press, each suddenly turning to see who stepped out of each new car.
“Fuck.” Tony muttered as he put on sunglasses, “I thought this was a kids show.”
“It was, Mister Stark. Then some politicians and celebrities backed it and stuff. You approved it, didn’t you?”
“Probably.” Tony shrugged, not remembering the last time that he even hosted the event, “Keep the car safe, my good man.” He instructed in a mock British accent.
“Will do, sir. Enjoy your evening.”
The cameras were hot as they flashed near him. He forced a large wave as many of the reporters hastily tried to get his attention. His mind desperately tried to be elsewhere as his breathing rose and his fingers tapped wildly at his sides. The entrance was only a few dozen metres away. He could make it. Practically jogging, the man did his best to look polite and calm whilst ignoring every single question or call that was aimed towards him. His plan had almost succeeded until a familiar blonde in a silver dress nudged his side. The intoxicated man stumbled and, in an attempt to pass it off as intention, shifted his body into some bizarre dance move. With a slurred smile, he turned to one of the few reporters that were actually allowed to cover the event on the carpet itself.
“Christine, baby! How are ya?”
The beautiful blonde smiled tightly before subtly signalling her cameraman to get into position.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Daily Bugle Report, we’re delighted to introduce the head of Stark Industries, Tony Stark,” The man in question rolled his eyes behind his glasses whilst smiling, “Tony, it’s been six months since we’ve last seen you. In fact, I think this is only your second Annual Star-”
“Wanted to stretch the legs, get the blood pumping. You know, ladies and gentlemen?” His grin grew sickly.
He needed to leave. To get away from the camera. Many had caught sight of Christine Everhart’s success in capturing him and were busily trying to get footage or audio. He chuckled as the tapping got faster.
“Rumours are that you’re working on a new project. Care to give any hints for the excited folks at home?”
Tony chuckled in a such a way that it resembled a grimace. His skin was now damp and his sleeked back hair was peeling.
“Just to stay tuned and we…We at Stark Industries are keen as heck to really, uh, nail this.”
Christine offered a fake nod and leant in a little more.
“Speaking of Stark Industries, the stock market reported your company’s worth dropping by a further two points. That’s the third quarter in a row where there’s been a significant decrease in revenue. Care to comment for your investors?”
Tony’s breathing hitched and a bout of nausea swayed his mind elsewhere.
“All…All companies have their ups and downs. You know the drill. Some would argue that we’re still recovering economically from Vietnam, which was over a deca-”
“Stark Industries recorded record growth during the Vietnam War.” Tony exhaled loudly, “In fact, the downward trend seems to have directly tied to your announcement last year that Stark Industries would be turning from a weapons manufacturer to an energy company.” His head shook a tad, “Wasn’t it last year that you made the bold claim that the United States would be run entirely on Arc Reactor technology in five years? Some are asking why a single city isn’t currently being powered? So far, it seems that your heart has been the only thing successfully run on it.”
Tony’s face fell and his mouth gaped several times. His skin was red and dripping. His chest hurt as breathing felt like pushing a heavy rock with his lungs. His only relief was the excited sounds of nearby cameras shifting their attention away from him. Even Christine was murmuring to her cameraman to rearrange himself.
“To-nny Stark! In the flesh!” He heard called out from behind him.
“Fuck me.” He spat softly as he turned and faked a wide smile.
A rather dull looking man with dirty blonde hair and a blue suit smiled smugly as he strutted forward. He bucked his sharp nose at Tony as the reasonably built man waved at several of the nearby cameras. Around his arm was a woman too beautiful for him. She was a short thing, with pale skin and short brunette hair in a stunning blue dress to match her husband’s suit. Her pale, sharp cheeks parted into a glamourous smile as she addressed waved daintily at the cameras.
“Hank.” Tony tried his best to seem pleasant, “Janet.”
“It’s been a while.” Hank whispered as he embraced the man, “Well,” He pulled back after smelling him, “Heard you’ve been leaning into the wine cabinet a bit these days.”
“Hank.” Janet scolded before turning to Tony, “It’s lovely to see you out and about for once.”
Tony leant in and kissed her cheek. As he did so, Christine was already pressing her advantage. Having three world-renown researchers in one setting was too good a prize.
“Doctor Pym.” She turned to Janet, “And Doctor Pym. You look dazzling as ever.”
“Thank you.” Hank waved her off with a smile, “Janet has been great as always as my wardrobe commander. Something about her and style.” He turned to cameras behind the rope, “Don’t you agree?”
Tony rolled his eyes and Janet’s jaw tightened. With a laugh, Hank turned back to Christine.
“Pym Technologies has partnered with Stark Industries for yet another year of fundraising. Do you guys ever feel a rivalry when organising events for the kids?”
Tony turned to Janet.
“When did you guys partner with us?” He whispered.
“Two years ago, Tony.” She softly chided, “We did call you and mail you the agreement. Christ.”
“Settle, settle, mother.” Tony grinned whilst watching Hank eagerly address not only Christine, but any camera or reporter that went near him, “He’s an artist.”
“Shut up.” She hissed.
“I mean, just look at him.”
“Enough. Just…enough.” She whispered before walking to join her husband.
Part of Tony felt guilt as pressing the issue of Hank’s chauvinistic tendencies. Another, drunker part simply shrugged it off as self-pity formed in his gut. Both were in the news constantly. While Pym Technologies didn’t have the money that Stark Industries did, it was certainly becoming a dominate force in the science and nanotechnology industry. It didn’t help that Hank sleazed his way into every news outlet and media form that he could.
“…nd it really depends on where we think it’s unethical. Science is important. It’s the way forward. But, we need to do it in a way that everyone benefits from.” Hank’s eyes shifted to observe Tony standing alone and to the side, “Tony here feels the same thing, don’t you?”
Tony went rigid. Had he known that Hank was making an appearance, he wouldn’t not have attended. He was not in the mood for the man’s theatrics.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hank turned to the reporters, “It takes a hell of a man to turn a weapons company, one built off the blood of the Second World War, into a clean energy powerhouse. When he’s not killing it with the ladies, he’s killing it with showing us what we can do for our planet for generations to come.”
Tony’s lip twitched. Something in his chest felt very hot and volatile. Before he understood why, Tony was at Hank and Janet’s side and in front of the reporters.
“I don’t know about that. I mean, you killed it with the ladies, too.” Hank’s face curled into a subtle glare, “How long’s it been? Eleven years? Married at twenty? Most would say to wait until at least finishing college, but when you have someone as beautiful as Janet, I can see why you didn’t.”
Hank was silent and still as he stared at Tony’s look of challenge. For a moment, he appeared to be analysing the legal and publicity issues of throwing the first punch. Janet’s head was lowered before she raised it, a frustrated and filthy look colouring her features. Before Tony could say further, she turned to the camera with a smile.
“Well, Tony has always been the falterer. It’s why he can befriend so many women. I think it’s his eyes. Now, as Hank was saying, our decision to refocus on quantum physics is partly due to our own research coming from that field, and also…”
Hank gave Tony one last glare before turning on his heel and smiling his dazzling smile at the cameras. Tony’s shoulders slouched and he found himself staggering away from the flashing lights. Away from the noise. Towards the beer. The lobby was nice. Much fewer cameras and reporters. The few that were there quickly read Tony’s body language as he brutish pushed past them to look at the awards schedule. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t recognise half of these categories. Who was even organising the event?
“A bit dower, Mister Stark?”
He turned to see a beautiful woman with dark skin and white dress smiling at him. Behind her was a camerawoman that was biting her lip as she tried to focus the lens on the two of them. Tony sighed once more and rubbed his jaw for a second.
“Yeah, look, ladies. I’m not in the camera mood right now. So, uh, have a night as beautiful as you are.”
As he tried to leave, the woman stepped to his side.
“We’re here filming a small piece for a kids hospital wing. Please. Just five minutes. The kids love the man with a battery heart.”
Tony closed his eyes but nodded. As he did so, he noticed a server carrying several cocktails on a plate as he headed into one of the presentation rooms. Without missing a beat, Tony turned to the camera, pinched a fancy glass, and took a long sip before putting it at the table to their side.
“Boys and girls, we have the Tony Stark. For those that don’t know, Mister Stark developed the first entirely self-running battery-”
“Arc Reactor.”
“-and turned his weapons building company into a place trying to help the environment,” Tony grimaced, “How did you get your start in technology?”
“My grandfather built parts for the old power plants. My father built weapons for the Allies during World War Two. When I was kid, I got tools for presents.” Tony did his best not to look bitter, “I got picture books on blueprints and designs. Never…Never really had a choice.”
“Ah, so a family interest.” The woman said in a blatant attempt to keep the ball rolling despite Tony’s tone, “Stark Industries was started by Mister Stark’s grandfather and is almost seventy years old. Was it scary taking that on?”
“I can’t swear in this, can I?”
“No.” Both women said firmly.
“Uh, I was…nervous. Nervous is good, man. It’s…normal. It’s okay to be nervous, kids. We’re all nervous.”
“But, you overcame it at the age of twenty-four when you took your place as head of the company following the passing of your father. Sadly, a few of the kids in the ward have recently lost family, as well. Do you have any advice for kids who have lost parents?”
Stark went silent. If he was being honest, he would explain the frustration that he would never be able to confront his father over the way that he was treated. Over the lack of affection or pride. Over the fact that he had more private tutors than friends growing up. He would explain that he wasn’t upset that his father was dead, but hurt that he could never tell him what he felt.
“It’s okay to cry.” He said stiffly, turning to look at the woman, “Crap happens. It’s life. You need to learn to accept that someone’s gone and be happy that they were there. Your life continues. Don’t waste that.” He said softly.
It was entirely stolen from an Italian film that he had saw several weeks ago whilst on a substance binge. The fact that he could remember the speech so well amazed him somewhat.
“That was…That was sweet.” The dark woman smiled, “One last thing, if that’s okay? What’s your favourite cartoon and why?”
Tony stared at her blankly before remembering who the interview was aimed at. With a sigh, he shrugged.
“Uh, Wile E. Coyote. He builds breakable crap, too. Have a good one, ladies.” He said abruptly as he leant in to kiss the reporter’s cheek.
With his cocktail in hand, he barely heard the minor argument forming over why the reporter didn’t ask about ‘his damn heart injury’ before he left. The numbed man chose a random seat in the hall and sat with a loud groan. It would be a long evening.
***
“…actor. We can’t find a way to replicate something so small on such a large scale.” Bronson whispered earnestly to Tony.
The hall erupted in applause and the pair were quick to keep up appearances by doing the same. The COO of Stark Industries shook his flushed head in annoyance and elbowed Tony again. The drunken man jumped a little and almost spilled his rum and coke on his trousers. The host shook the hands of the small girl on stage and handed her a small medal and a cheque before turning back to the crowd. Several attendants led the girl off stage while another two aided in lifting the girl’s ‘Hovering Bird Feeder’ off as well.
“Look, give me more time.” He groaned sleepily, “I just…The name issue…The main issue is getting the power to stabilise once generated. That’s all. Easy as.”
“Tony.” Bronson whispered as another child’s name was called, “We’re bleeding money. We all backed you when you wanted to switch indus-”
“You backed me because I own the shares.” Tony muttered, “We’ve only lost a few points. It’s business. We’re hardly doing the worst. Need I mention EssexCorp?”
“Nathaniel killed himself after being charged with violations of the Human Rights Charter.” Bronson countered before both men started applauding at some boy in a wheelchair, “Just…We need something to calm the other investors with. Anything. We can’t keep pushing out computers and stereos. I mean, fuck it. Design a gasless car or something.”
Tony was no longer listening. His eyes were following a man with dirty-blonde hair as he stepped onto the main stage. The several hundred guests erupted into applause and Tony rolled his eyes. You invent one tiny computer that was used on a space shuttle and you’re God’s gift to the work. He practically stole Trask’s work from over a decade ago, in Tony’s opinion. The man smiled and waved to the crowds before shaking the hand of the previous presenter.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please thank Carlton for such a terrific performance tonight. It’s always hard to follow the man, especially after a buffet.” A series of soft laughter followed, “Seriously, for such a skinny guy, where do you pack it?”
The man laughed as he walked away and made a mock fighting pose before vanishing behind a curtain. Hank pretended to have been struck by something before resuming his confident place behind the microphone. The performance made Tony want nothing more than another drink.
“As we know, Tony Stark began this incredible gala to aid children in need. To promote science amongst the youth, and to reward those that want to build a different tomorrow. Due to this, Pym Technology is proud to partner with Stark Industries for this fantastic evening.” He smiled at the applause, “As we know, we save the award for best research project for a seventeen to eighteen-year-old until last. The winner, as always, receives a scholarship into M.I.T. as well as a trip in the Stark Helicopter to see the city at night. With great pride, I can name the winning project for 1985 as,” Hank paused on purpose and smirked as people began to murmur, “Lisa Minel’s work on identifying the reactionary trends of Gamma radiation.”
As a small, blonde teenager walked onto the stage sobbing with excitement, Bronson snorted to Tony.
“Last guy who did that research disappeared.”
Tony said nothing. He was too busy watching the girl clutching Hank as if he were his saviour. Tony forced a grin and joined in the thunderous applause as she held a man that was in Tony’s place.
As the evening drew on, Tony’s attention drifted constantly, even as he ate the decorated food. Several of his board members and heads of departments had given up on trying to talk business with the man that had not been seen in months. In their eyes, it would have made little difference if he had appeared or stayed home. He offered just as many answers either way. Tony smiled tightly as he sat at the bar, summoning a bartender almost immediately.
“Out of all of your inventions, this is my favourite.” Tony bit his lip as Hank sat next to him. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“The spotlight got boring, I see. Sure there’s more cameras to be found.” Tony slurred as he leaned over the bar.
Hank tossed him an ugly look and eyed to make sure that they were out of eavesdropping distance.
“What the hell is happening to you?” He asked with disgust, “You look like shit and smell like a bar.”
“A lovely smell.” He chuckled, “Just enjoying life, Hanky boy.”
“More like ruining it, along with your company.” Tony sighed as Hank continued, “I mean, seriously Tony. You got Stark Industries. The wealthiest manufacturing company in half the country. A crown jewel. One that’s dying. Where the hell’s the Arc Reactor tech? We know it works.”
Hank pointed to Tony’s chest. The man muttered something as his drink was handed to him. Hank watched with disappointment as Tony finished it within two gulps, only to order another.
“Give it to Jan and I.”
“Christ.” Tony shook his head.
“No, seriously. The three of us can work out how to scale it up. Between the three of us-”
“We’ll what?” Stark asked mockingly, “You make things smaller, Pym. Not bigger.”
Hank eyed him for a moment and took a sip of his rum and coke.
“At least I’m trying to help people. Something you’ve promised to do, and have done nothing since.”
“Help people?” Tony gritted his teeth, “You help Jan by sleeping around?”
“The fuck’d you say to me?” Hank snapped, grabbing Tony by the collar.
The bartender waved security over immediately and Hank instantly held his arms up and stepped away. He shook his head bitterly and walked away, leaving Tony to stew in the hollow feeling in his stomach. He reached over and finished Hank’s drink for him. As he rose, he smiled at security as they threatened him with something. Over the sounds of chatter and music playing, Tony couldn’t focus on anything. With a dizzled mind and numb limbs, the miserable man hastily strode from the bar and towards the lobby area. Most of the guests had already left, media included. However, as he stumbled towards the backdoors, his eyes flicked to a dark woman in a white dress bending over to finish zipping up a camera bag. His eyes drifted from her round rear to her face as she straightened and noticed him staring. With lazy eyes, he smiled and stepped towards the woman and her co-worker.
“You look like you had a good night.” The camerawoman laughed, earning a point and a chuckle.
“It’s always a good night for me. So, uh, you get the stuff for the kids?”
Both women exchanged looks and nodded softly.
“We think so. Thanks again for the interview. I swear the kids will love it.”
“Ah, that’s…That’s just great.” He nodded.
The three went quiet as an awkward pause hit them. A moment later, Tony had his hands in his pockets and was leaning towards.
“Either of you ever seen the city in a private helicopter? Ya want to?”
***
Hank smiled and waved once more to the cameras as he neared his limousine.
“Please, come back next year. Remember, all proceeds go to a random ten group of charities. So, dig deep and have a wonderful night!”
As he slumped into his seat beside Janet, his face dropped into a tired, forlorn expression. He leant onto his hand and rubbed his aching eyes as Janet read several small reports. His heartbeat slowly calmed and eased as the crowds and cameras disappeared behind the car. With a soft grumble, he shifted into the leather and mumbled something as he gently eased into a nap. Janet said nothing, her lips pursed tightly as she fixated on reading her notes.
She was kind enough to poke him awake as they arrived at their wide home. Most of it was home lab and a storage space for both of their work. The actual living areas were surprisingly small for people who earned as much as they did. Janet thanked the driver with a smile and offered him several notes before leading her tired husband past their steel fence and through evenly cut grass. As Hank kicked off his shoes and sat in their bed, he turned to Janet. The woman had been silent the entire car ride. Even as she sat in front of her dresser to remove her earrings, she was as quiet as a mouse with speaking problems.
“What did I say this time?” He asked with a frustrated sigh.
“Nothing.” Janet replied curtly.
“You’re not even willing to look at me.”
Almost childishly, Janet turned so that Hank could see her face in the mirror.
“Nothing.” She said as she looked at him.
“Was it the Stark thing?” Hank’s tone became spiteful, “That asshole is a drunken mess that deserves his ass handed to him.”
“I’m sure it would make for some great footage.” Was the muttered response.
Hank sighed as he shifted some pillows and lied back in their bed, eyeing her closely.
“The cameras again. Look, the investors love it. PR loves it. Do you have any idea how many people grab me before any event to give me a damn script?” Hank shifted and looked away, “They like loud people. It’s stupid, I know. But we need to sell the company to investors.”
“So, Pym Technologies is worth selling your soul?”
Hank grew silent. After a moment of no response, Janet turned to see him biting his lip and looking at the wall. It was his usual reaction when upset. Contrary to public belief, Hank Pym was not loud. Nor was he confident. In fact, he was probably just an Oscar worthy actor, if anything. When they had first met in middle school, getting Hank to talk took almost hours. It was partly why she was taken by him. He was kind, soft and gentle. Not an idiot that always ran his mouth.
“We…” Hank’s eyes flickered as he tried to find the right words, “We are not Stark Industries. We’re not Hammer. We’re not even Oscorp. We’ve been living off the success of that rocket’s computers for the last six years. We…If the investors get a whiff of…the position that we’re in, we’re screwed, Jan.”
She lowered her head and turned back to removing the last of her makeup.
“It’s a shame.”
“Why’s that?” Hank asked softly as he played with a pillow’s frills.
“The quiet, sensitive man that I married is far better than the loudmouth that he pretends to be. I love that man a lot.” She paused a venomous feeling flared within her, “As do other women.” She murmured.
Hank shifted into a sitting position and looked at her intensely.
“Do you honestly…think that I’m cheating?”
Janet put away her sponges and looked at her husband. His face was downtrodden and creased with deep hurt at the insinuation. The same expression that he had whenever they would fight. The accusations had been in the media for over a year. It started with one stuck-up, prissy woman clearly seeking attention. But as soon as she uttered the story in front of a camera, over a dozen more women had come forth with equally vague stories of being bedded by Hank Pym.
“No, I don’t.” She grunted roughly.
It was an honest answer. For all of Hank’s flaws, he was not a liar. Yes, Janet sometimes felt that she was second fiddle to his research. Other times, he was emotionally distant due to his inability to express himself the way that he wanted to. But he wasn’t a liar.
“Then what’s wrong?” He asked in an insecure manner.
“Just something Tony said at the gala.” She sighed, “Do…It’s stupid.”
“You’re Janet Pym. You’re never stupid.” Hank said in a low tone.
“Do you…think that we married too young?”
Hank creased his brows as he thought on the question. It didn’t take the overly logical man to come to an answer.
“No. We were in love. We dated for four years. We both wanted to be married. Why wait?”
Janet shrugged lamely. If she were to be completely honest, part of her pondered on the idea that Hank was possibly growing bored with her. They had never been with anyone else in their entire lives. The prime time for exploration and being with flings and mild interests was spent in a lab with rings on their fingers. While she didn’t regret the speedy marriage, an admittedly and self-conscious part of her felt that Hank would eventually grow tired of the same woman. He hadn’t cheated. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t leave.
“I just…I don’t know. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”
She had been staring at the table in front of her. Due to that, she had not noticed that Hank was behind her. As she felt smooth arms encase her stomach, she jumped a little.
“I…I never will regret anything about you.” Hank said as he tried to pick the right words, “You’re smart, funny, stubborn, beautiful, and the reason that I love going to work each day.” He smiled at her softly in the mirror, “Ignore Tony. He’s just a miserable drunk.”
Janet smiled gently as she felt several kisses trail down her neck and a pair of hands stroke her tummy.
“Not going to work.” She chided with raised eyebrows.
“It usually does.” Hank mumbled.
Before she could complain, Janet was spun on her seat. Long fingers slid her up her thighs before spreading them. An eyeroll shifted into narrowed eyes as she felt soft lips kiss her inner leg.
***
It was the headache that woke Tony. With a pained grimace, the man lazily rubbed at his eyes and yawned softly. His nose stung. As he moved his arms, he began aware of two sets of weight that were either side of him. The pain in his head sent another shudder down his spine. With a mumbled apology and a playfully squeeze of the exposed ass cheek to his side, he climbed over the dark reporter. She sleepily whispered something before rolling over and drifting back into her slumber. Tony turned to them, only being vaguely aware of who the two women in his bed were. He paid them little mind as he stumbled in the nude. In the haze of his vision, he eventually found his restroom.
His eyes were bloodshot. A concerning amount of vein showed in each orb. Tony winced as he threw some water in them. The veins within his nose were swollen and it was sensitive to touch. Tony’s mouth twitched and leaned back to look at his bedroom. Due to large cohort of clothes on the floor, it was impossible to see any bags or dishes with stains that Jarvis would fine. It wasn’t that his butler didn’t know about his more…unfavoured traits. It was just that Tony was tired of seeing the silent disappointment whenever Jarvis would keep up afterwards.
Tony’s shower was short lived. Within two minutes, the overwhelming urge to vomit made the wet man fall to his knees over his toilet and begin heaving violently. He spat loudly and washed his mouth out with a bland dental wash before drying himself. As he stepped out, he noticed that the reporter and camerawomen were slowly putting on their clothes. With faces were flush with shame and embarrassment, and neither could bring themselves to say anything. Without much thought, Tony grabbed his wallet and placed a hundred dollar bill on the bed between them.
“For the taxi.” He explained before leaving without another word.
Feeling the throb his headache refuse to ease, Tony lifted a painting of his grandfather from his kitchen wall. A large hole was revealed, one which Tony fetched a bottle of gin from. Being too foggy to have the foresight of returning the painting and hiding his stash, Tony fixed himself a drink and sat at the bulky computer with over a dozen cables connected to it. There was a period in a much healthier Tony’s life where he would tap into his servers to inspect his work whilst eating a normal breakfast. With concerning effort, Tony managed to press the correct keys and smiled lazily at the green text that appeared. A moment later, he browsed his various networks without much interest. If he were to be honest, the computer’s main purpose had become a way to avoid talking to Jarvis should he enter.
By sheer accident, Tony’s mouse clicked an older square on his desktop. One that he hadn’t needed to check up on, since its maintenance was primarily taken care for by the clients. Still, having mild curiosity, he examined the NYPD network. With a mild mental debate, he considered inspecting if anything exciting or interesting was being hidden by the police. An excitement turned to boredom as it was all simply police records and staff complaints. Before he logged off, he noticed another square flashing. One that was tiny and barely worth noting amongst the larger and more impressive systems. Tony clicked it. His lip twitched. Within a matter of seconds, the man was swiftly pressing keys and muttering to himself.
Jarvis sighed as he saw the alcohol stash. Hidden behind the founder of Stark Industries’ portrait, as well. The butler shook his head and made quick work of returning it to its rightful place. He would return for the alcohol once his master had fallen asleep or passed out. To his surprise, there was an untouched glass of gin to Tony’s side. By the look of the rim, it hadn’t been sipped at all. The man’s fingers were swiftly working at his computer in such a way that he had not seen in months. In fact, it almost made Jarvis smile as he remembered the eagerness and passion of the young man from several years prior.
“May I ask what has your interest this morning?” Jarvis asked as he stood at his side.
“Someone…Someone snuck through my security systems.”
Jarvis’ eyes went from Tony to the line of code that he was typing.
“Is Stark Industries alright?”
“Wasn’t the company. They hit the NYPD.”
“Terrorists? Russians?”
“No.” Tony leaned back and crossed his arms.
He was focussed and sober. His face was wrinkled in challenge and a stubbornness to let it beat him. It was the same face that he wore when he had first made his prototype Arc Reactor. A face that made Jarvis smile wider.
“This is an amateur. A smart one. Didn’t go through the front or back. Went through the side systems and worked his way through system by system. But an amateur. Let off one system alert. The police think that someone was tampering with their nightly rosters.”
“And what were they doing, sir?”
“Looking at the animal murders and systematically going through every case, public or not, that has similar M.O.’s.” Tony’s eyes flicked back to the screen, “They didn’t copy anything.”
“Perhaps by hand on paper?”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Tony’s lip flicked into a smile of victory as his commands generated several more lines of code, “Good at hiding tracks. Not perfect. Let’s see…”
Jarvis watched as a bulky image of New York City made from green pixels appeared before them. In short, clunky movements, it shrunk in size until a flashing dot appeared in the middle of nowhere.
“Sir, I don’t even-”
“Get me a map.”
“Shouldn’t we let the police handle this?”
Tony slowly rose and stood within an inch of Jarvis’ face.
“Someone just broke into my system and the only reason I know about it, is the fact that they accidently triggered a very irrelevant alert. I’m gonna find out who the hell cracked my security protocols.”
***
Janet yawned groggily as she rinsed her plate and placed it in the sink. She eyed the clock by the wall. It was only six-thirty. After such a long night, she doubted that she would see Hank for another several hours. That was okay. It gave her time to get to and from her Aikido class before Hank could notice. What had started as a mild curiosity had turned into a genuine hobby every weekend for the last several years. In Janet’s mind, everyone should know at least some self-defence. Well, that and the fact that both Janet and Hank found it highly amusing that she could easily flip the much larger man onto his rear.
The woman hastily changed into her exercise spandex but, as she did so, her eyes travel to her stomach and waist. A self-conscious hand squeezed her side and her tummy and a frown formed. She was beautiful. She knew that. She hoped that, at least. Hank told her daily. She was being silly. She wasn’t fat or even chubby. Not that Hank would care, anyway. Those stupid magazines were just trying to make stories about her again. They had a habit of commenting on Janet’s weight, her neck in particular, in recent months. What first started as pregnancy rumours were now just mean articles of gossip. It was another reason why Aikido was beneficial. It kept the stressful woman calm.
She was almost out the door when she noticed a series of notes on her favourite mini-table by the fluffy couch. She huffed as she walked towards it. She had told Hank countless times to stop littering her favourite table. Small woman almost threw them to the floor in a show of pettiness when she read what the notes were actually on. They were stretches. A unique particle that Hank had shyly shown her on many occasions. Attached to sketches were notes. A lot of notes. Most were written with messy writing and appeared to be the thoughts of a madman. But others were well structured formulas. A changing formula with several edits and redesigns.
He was still working on the Pym Particle. It had been since their undergrad years that her husband was working on discovering the substance. While she had been supportive at the time, she was secretly grateful that Hank moved onto nano-computing, a fair more realistic science. She had known that he had worked on and off with the passion project for the last several years. Each burst had only lasted a month or so before their actual jobs required them to focus on something else. But, as she looked at the notes, he was getting a lot further than had thought. He must have been in a mad rush in preparing for last night. He was also a very messy man. She wasn’t surprised that she came across such a find.
She looked up the hallway and waited until she could hear the soft sounds of snoring. A moment later, Janet slowly sat down and began to inspect each page of his work. Pym Particles. A theory of atomic size manipulation. One that was looking less and less like a theory. Judging by the excited scribbles on the papers, he was dumb and confident enough to want a trial. As she read, she was idly aware that, for some reason, the snoring was growing louder. With a frown, Janet looked up. Her mouth gaped as she saw Hank staring at her. His mouth was open as he obnoxiously made a snoring sound every few seconds.
“And how long have you been that trick?” Janet muttered as she tried to lean over Hank’s notes to hide them.
“Just this morning.” He smiled.
He pointed to the notes, making Janet exhaled slowly in defeat.
“Forgot to put them in my office.”
“Pym Particles.” Janet said slowly, “Someone’s looking into Pym Particles again.”
Hank flushed with embarrassment. He gave a lame shrug and sat beside her. It took a few moments before the shy man could express his thoughts properly.
“I…I think…”
“Take your time.” Janet whispered as she stroked his thigh.
“I think I had breakthrough.” A tinge of an excited smile formed, “I…may have shrunk something. A basketball to the size of a dime.”
Janet’s eyes widened and her mouth opened. She shifted in her seat as Hank smiled widely and nodded like a child at Christmas.
“Exactly! It…It took months. Well, years. But I think I know the right structure for the particle.” As he spoke, his fingers raced through his notes, “If administered in a gas, it shrinks the atoms. Like theorised!”
His excitement soon faded, and he looked away.
“What?”
“It…It…” He scratched his jaw, “It’s not permanent. The basketball reverted after forty-seven seconds. It also doesn’t work on organic materials. Well, not on mice. The cells fluctuated without order. I can’t find a way to ensure that all of the atoms shrink at the exact same time.”
Janet pressed a finger to her lips as she took a paper from Hank’s hand. Sure enough, the cellular structure of the mice was…concerning. Concerning, but not without possible rectification. She turned to him and smiled softly as she squeezed his thigh again.
“Congratulations.”
“What?” He frowned.
“You’ve found something worth missing Aikido for.”
His face ripened and he laughed softly before kissing her hand. They both turned back to the scattered notes before them. How Hank gained his Ph.D with such a poor way of structuring research and reason still befuddled his wife.
“How are you administering the gas?”
“Ah. Just…a small chamber, really.” He shrugged, “One of the ones we have in the labs on third floor.”
“With one dispenser?” She queried.
“Yeah. Just a nozzle at the top of the casing. I’ve tried four dispensers, but that only…Well, it exacerbated Minnie Mouse’s destabilisation.”
The substance didn’t work on organics due to inconsistent atomic manipulation, and it wasn’t permanent on non-organics. Chemical makeup and deployment. Janet bit her tongue as she looked at the various notes on the deployment method. Perhaps deployment needed to be consistent for a much more potent formula. But that didn’t necessarily resolve the issue of inconsistent doses of the substance. Her eyes drifted to her brightly coloured spandex. It was tight and encased nearly all of her skin equally. She clicked her tongue.
“Hank, I have a dumb idea about the deployment method.”
“Jan, again, you’re never-”
“Humans. Can this stuff work on humans?”
Hank’s face turned back and he shifted away from her, much to Janet’s confusion.
“No. Not human testing. I won-”
“No, you idiot.” She laughed, “What…What if we administered an altered serum constantly and throughout the entire body?”
Hank zoned out as he thought on the idea for several moments.
“We…would need a lot of the serum. We would also need to work out how much exactly triggers the atoms to shrink, so we know how much needs to be given at any one second. I have some rough ideas, but we’d need to narrow it down more.”
“Which get’s back to my human question. A suit.” She grinned as she tugged on her tight outfit, “One that constantly spreads the serum into a body.”
Hank zoned out once more. This time, it was a long while before Janet could see the twitches of an eager smile form.
“That could…work. Not for animals, but…for a…”
“Human.” She nodded, “Which leaves the serum.”
Hank shifted slightly. He had never hoped to test the serum on a human being. In fact, he felt guilty about the mice. The technology was primarily aimed at non-living materials to address space limitations. The actual possibilities for a substance that could shrink atoms were limitless, yet the idea of using it on humans seemed like a rushed thought, in his opinion at least.
“It needs to be refined. A lot.” They both nodded at his words, “We should focus on the non-organic materials. At least, for now. Baby steps, after all. We haven’t even gotten the formula to be stable, yet.”
Janet did her best not to seem too disappointed. The idea of manipulating organic matter had made her very excited. It was an entirely new science, one that they were about to open the door to. If they could resolve the issue with organic test subjects, the issue of starvation could be solved by giant cows or chickens. Vegetables could be the size of entire dinner tables. Humans could perform surgeries on a microscopic level. The things that such people could observe in such a state…Janet was almost shaking at the idea.
“Do you have any brunch plans?”
***
Tony placed the binoculars to his eyes once more as he sat within a rented car. It was hidden at the side of the road, just behind a hotdog vendor was that struggling to get many customers. Well, aside from Tony. The man had discovered that he had a habit of eating when bored. As he sat within the car and stared at the old warehouse for almost an entire day, he had found himself bored often. He licked his lips free of any sauce as he noticed an oddity. While the poorer neighbour was quiet, there was still a few people knocking about. The warehouse had remained abandoned, aside from people throwing their broken furniture into one heap or another. Yet, whenever they did so, they immediately left without returning. Only one person had returned to the site. An gangly teen with messy hair. The round-cheeked boy had made two passes into the site and, as Tony peaked through the binoculars, he noticed that he was making his third trip.
Tony threw the binoculars away and kicked himself through the rusted car door. He shook his tiger skin shirt clear of crumbles, placed a baseball cap on, and strode through the nearly empty street. He did his best not to look anyone in the eye as he passed odd person or so. With a mild jog, he soon arrived within the abandoned warehouse. Piles upon piles of discarded toys, computers, televisions, and even clothing filled the industrial space. Tony almost found himself lost until he caught sight of something. An oddly placed bundle of mattresses on top of several power cords. Tony thew two of the mattresses with a groan and stepped back to see a small computer with a desk and single chair. He looked around, not seeing the kid anywhere.
With a sigh, he idly activated the bulky machine and pressed several keys. Within moments, he could see what the computer had been linked to.
“Word of advice,” He called into the warehouse, “Learn to wipe your computer of evidence. Come on. Let’s chat. Not a cop and I don’t wanna hurt ya.”
There was a pause before a gentle thud was heard. Turning around, he saw the kid sheepishly staring at the ground.
“Where…Where the hell were you hiding?”
“Somewhere.” The rough haired boy replied, “Look, sir, I don’t want any trou-”
“You hacked into my damn server on that thing?” Tony pointed to the worn computer, “It looks like it was around for the moon landing.”
The boy shrugged a little but remained quiet. His eyes stayed obediently to the ground and his limbs wiggled aimlessly.
“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you.” Tony said as he lifted off his cap to scratch his eyebrows.
As he did so, his whole face was briefly revealed. Out of the corner of his eyes, the boy took it in. He immediately stepped back, staring at the man with a shaking lip.
“T-Tony St…Tony Stark? The Tony Stark?!” Tony rolled his eyes bitterly as the teen laughed and took a step closer, “I’m such a…You have no…Sir, it’s an honour.”
As he spoke, Tony noticed that a hand was being offered to him. With a reluctant sigh, he shook it.
“Yeah, well, nice meeting you, too, kid.” Tony muttered as he sat on the desk, “So, breaking into the NYPD’s security system.” The teen’s eyes widened, “You set of an alert. Almost didn’t catch you. I’m impressed. Like, sadly, really impressed. Why are you looking at animal attacks?”
The teen bit his lip and said nothing. Tony exhaled and shrugged as he crossed his arms.
“Look, I can very easily prove that you did it. Breaking into a police database to look at case files is a minor felony. So, talk, dear boy. Or, I call up the mayor and mention what I found.”
The teen’s cheeks hollowed before he exhaled and grimaced. He began to pace slightly and to rub his arms.
“I…Well, it wasn’t me. I…was asked to.”
“Yeah? By who?”
The teen’s eyes flickered several times as he thought to himself. Tony, having already grown impatient, leapt off of his seat.
“Look, if you don’t tell me-”
“Spider-Man paid me to.”
Tony’s brows rose in a questioning gaze. The teen’s shoulders dropped, and he shook his head.
“Spider-Man? The red and blue guy? The, ah, Daily Bugle reports on him a lot and a-”
“The mutant that spins webs.” Tony nodded, “Yeah, he’s been around a year or something.”
“He’s not a mutant.”
“But he’s paying kids to hack into the NYPD?”
The teen paused and his eyes began to flicker once more.
“Well, he needed someone who could do it. I needed the money. So, ah, I said yes.”
Tony rolled his jaw side to side as he stared at the kid. For a brief moment, Tony was tempted to just leave. The awkward teen was either taking the piss or was just stupid. He’d heard of the spider person a few months back, mainly from Jarvis reporting on the news. If this guy was involved, and really was using kids as free labour to hack into government property, then the web person was short-sighted idiot that left tracks to be followed. Still, this was the most excitement that Tony had felt in some time. A depressing fact that kept him in the warehouse.
“Why’s the Spider-guy interested in the attacks?”
The teen shrugged as if it were a stupid question.
“He wants to stop them.”
“By what? Increasing pest control?”
“You think it’s animals?” The teen had the audacity to chuckle, albeit nervously, in Tony’s face, “Over twenty killed in a month, all in very screwed up ways. That doesn’t sound like an animal.”
Tony, admittedly, had not been following the attacks. In fact, he had only learnt of them during his tracking of who had broken through his security. Even he admitted to himself that those statistics were odd, even for New York City.
“So, Spider-Guy-”
“Spider-Man.”
“-thinks it’s something else? Like a mutant?”
The teen shifted his head side to side.
“Maybe. He doesn’t know yet. Not that he’s told me.” The teen quickly added.
Tony chewed on his cheek for a moment. A deranged series of killings happening throughout the city. A web person wanting to stop them. Without further cause, Hank Pym’s jab from the night before bit into his mind. ‘At least I’m trying to help people. Something you’ve promised to do, and have done nothing since’. Insecurity and a sense of challenge flared within Tony. Without thinking much further, he looked back to the kid.
“I want to meet him.”
The teen’s mouth gaped and he quickly burst into a series of words.
“B-b-But why? I mean, you’re a…You’re a billionaire. You have businesses to run. You ha-”
“I’m very smart, and this Spider-lord-”
“Spider-Man.”
“-isn’t. It took me less than an hour to find you.” Tony watched as the teen looked away in shame, “Doesn’t that sound like the type of person to have help hunt down a murderer?”
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope you’re great and enjoyed this chapter. Thank you all so much for leaving a kudos or comment, they’re really fantastic to see!
Next chapter shall introduce a certain man out of time, and an exiled god. If you have any suggestions or feedback, please feel free to leave a comment. Otherwise, thanks for reading and have a great week!
Also, if you liked this type of story so far, feel free to check out my X-Men story set in this universe.
Fact of the chapter: Only 1 – 2% of the entire population has red hair. Do with that information what you will.
Chapter 3: The Man Out of Time, and the Exile
Chapter Text
Hank yawned softly as he hobbled his way through the small lab adjacent to his house. It was a marvellous thing to be able to wake, eat, shower and spend less than three minutes walking before arriving to one’s workplace. For that reason, it allowed the forever tired man to sleep in as much as possible. The lab was better described as an elongated garage. The long walls stretched dozens of metres against tiled and sterile floors. More often than not, those very walls were lined with safety equipment or storage cases filled with various materials and elements.
Cut off into smaller areas by half walls, Hank stood in front of a square, glass tank. On each side of the tank was a nozzle that connected to the various pressurised mechanics within the stand below. To the sides were several bulky, loud machines that reported on the atomic and chemical occurrences within the tank. Loud noises and bright, alternating lights coloured the otherwise dull, blank looking room. Hank’s face flashed many different shades of red and blue as he made several notes on his clipboard. Within a moment or two, he had finished. Opening a latch onto the front of the tank, he pushed a small wooden cube that was primarily used for teaching children the alphabet. His clipboard was placed at his side as a recorder was placed to his lip.
“Hank Pym. September third. Eighty-five. Testing variation ‘twenty-two point nine’ on non-living material. Observing now.”
He clicked the recorder. His finger traced several buttons on the heavy machines in front of him. They hummed as a thick grey substance oozed into the tank. Hank watched with interest, clipboard in hand, as the cube began to shake violently. As it did so, Hank pressed a small clock on the table to his side and watched as the seconds ticked by. Within a matter of mere seconds, the cube made an odd suction noise before disappearing from view. Hank was not excited or impressed. He knew better by now. He waited for several seconds for a something. It took less than two minutes for millions of wooden splinters to hurl themselves outwards at the glass tank. The cube was a train wreck. A train wreck that had lasted thirteen seconds longer than the last cube. As Hank made note of this, he became idly aware of footsteps behind him.
Janet peaked over his shoulder and tilted her lip. They were spending almost as much time cleaning the tanks as they were writing down their observations. Neither cared, however. The serum was steadily showing improvements with each variation of the formula. Hank’s research on the theorized ‘Pym Particles’, while he was often shy to admit, spanned nearly a decade. Countless variations had been noted down since college, with few tests actually committed by the conservative scientist. With mild prodding by his rather excited yet stubborn wife, each variation was slowly being crossed off. To add more confidence to the man, Janet’s own notes on the principles appeared to have some merit to them. While Hank’s notes could shrink an object, Janet’s aided in maintaining the shrinking effect. While it was only lasting mere seconds, it was a great improvement from when they had started three weeks prior.
Such success brought its own rewards for the married pair. Excitement and adrenaline at the prospect at being so close to a monumental breakthrough pumped into their veins. Eyes would often trail down the other’s body. Hands would linger on shoulders and hips as they exchanged notes. Any sense of decorum or restraint was lost when a breakthrough, no matter how small or insignificant, was made. The thrill of the research brought back many memories of college, when their love was fresh and youthful. A thrill that had pushed Janet onto her back on a table several times, just as it pulled Hank against the wall beside the safety equipment as Janet straddled him on just as many occasions. It was for that smitten reason that Janet was merely wearing a loose robe and Hank, whilst wearing slightly more clothes, had a mild limp. He was not as flexible as he once was in college.
“The twenty-ones were more stable.” Janet observed as she wrapped her small arms around Hank’s waist.
“I know.” Hank murmured as he placed a pen to his lips, “On the plus side, the issue isn’t proving that we can alter mass.”
“It’s just keeping it altered.” Janet finished, earning a minor hum of agreement, “We’re close, sweetie. Just…don’t forget that.”
Hank was only half listening to his wife. His mind tried to form sequences within air. Countless possible variations were left to test. Countless avenues to explore. He would solve it. He knew that the particle existed. He hungered for them more than he ever knew that he could. It was easier when there were no breakthroughs. But, being so close, it was so much harder to accept anything but success. He would prove his particle existed, even if he worked night and day for years without end. His determination made it difficult to sleep. His mind simply drifted to new combinations or substances as he laid next to Janet. He was close. He could almost taste it. The ability to completely alter mass and size. The mere prospect of leading such an endeavour made him almost lick his lips. He would be known in history as the man that altered physics itself. Had Janet not demanded that he eat, he would spend all of his time reaching his landmark. He needed to.
“Let’s shake things up for a bit.” Janet suggested softly as she disappeared for a moment.
The sound of a shaking box made Hank turn to the second testing tank. With a somewhat defeated nod, he placed his clipboard on the table before taking the small box off his wife. Mice. Sterile, white mice squeaked loudly as they eagerly attempted to escape their cardboard prison. As they did so, Janet was already noting down the label of a serum on her clipboard. After doing so, she placed the sickly green vial into the dispenser and waited for the machinery to hum and click. She took out her own recorder next.
“Janet Pym. September third. Eighty-five. Testing variation ‘eight point one’ on living material. Test subject: mus musculus. Observing now.”
***
As far as crummy apartments went, the tall blonde had experienced far worse. In fact, the small, one bedroom apartment with dull brown walls and a stained wooden floor felt rather homely to him. He had simple tastes, with little interest in flashy seating or kitchens. It was for that reason that he avoided much of the bright city. Well, that and the fact that he was not allowed near most of the city. Aside from the local cinema, a library, a nearby gym and a street across from his house that regularly held grocery stalls, the robust man never strayed too far from his home. Whenever he did so, feet would trace his. Whilst nothing was ever said, shadows often followed his own. It was enough to make the man feel as if he were in a science fiction novel. A dystopian one, to be exact.
His claustrophobia had not eased by the time he had returned from shopping. Three floors up and to the left. The same pathway that he followed several times a week. Unlike many of those trips, he saw a short woman with combed raven hair unlocking her front door. She looked up and flushed slightly as the unusually muscular man approached. An awkward, yet well meaning, smile formed upon his face as he greeted her.
“Kate.” He nodded as he stepped in front of his own door.
“Louis.” She said with a fluctuating smile, “Need help with those?”
She looked to the several paper bags within his arm. Much to her amazement, he placed almost everything into a single arm and held them with ease as he fished out his keys from his other pocket. He gave her an almost embarrassed look as her lips were slightly agape at the display.
“Arm day.” He joked, bring her back to the present.
“S-sorry. Must be ready for a big dinner, then.” She once again looked at the grocery bags.
“Something like that. Just like to get out of the house.” He admitted.
The pale woman gave an unusual expression as a response, one that the man eyed closely. It didn’t take her long to realise that she was under inspection. With a wide smile, she motioned to her now opened door. A pang of emotion hotly made its way up the man’s spine. A sense of frustration and a need for an ear to listen to him drove him to open his mouth just as Kate did.
“I should get the stove on. Have a good night, Louis.”
“Steve.” The man said in a casual manner.
The woman hesitated once again, drawing the close attention of the man. As soon as he had spoken it, the agitation in the back of his mind deflated. He had spoken about his identity to another human being. He was not silent or acting like a clouded mirror for others to look at. He was honest. To his pleasure, an honest admission caused an honest reaction. Katie’s lip twitched once again. That was enough of a sign for the man to feel as if his gamble was correct. A gamble that he been planning for the last week. Out of almost pity or mercy, the tall man sighed and opened his door.
“Tell Fury I want to chat tonight.” He said in a soft voice.
The blonde made quick work of storing his groceries and arrived at the sofa in front of his small television. He had nothing else to do that evening. His eyes lazily scanned the baseball game, having no interest in a team that was formed after his birth. A team that he had no historical or emotional connection or recognition to. Unfortunately, it was still one of the few things that he recognised, even if it was tainted.
It took only two hours for his door to open again. It was unlocked. Even if was locked, the man doubted that it would be enough to keeping the intruding other out. A sweet, oily smell wafted into the room. Out of respect, the man stood tall and proper as a dark man in odd clothing arrived before him. He was tall and rounded, but not on the level as the blonde. His skin was hard and rough, scarred many times over. One such scar rested behind the patch covering his left eye socket. He placed a large pizza on the side table before removing his dark coat as if he were in his own home.
“Sir.” The blonde greeted.
The darker man gave him a securitising look.
“Steve.” He shook his head as he sat down, “We’ve spoken about this. It’s ‘Louis’.”
“Even to agents?” Steve asked, still standing.
Fury sighed as he opened the peperoni pizza. Eyeing each slice, he took the smallest once and gave it several test bites.
“What gave her away?” He asked with his mouth full.
“Overheard her speaking German last week. Russian two weeks prior. Two of the books in her loungeroom are in French.”
“So? Could be a damn language fanatic.” Fury snorted.
“Next door?” Steve smiled as he sat down.
“Look, we said we’re gonna keep an eye on you. So, we’re keeping an eye on you. Be grateful. If you wanted my attention so damn much, just call me next time.”
Steve gave him a weakened, almost disheartened look. One that Fury rolled his eye at.
“You don’t keep up. Sir, I don’t mind being followed. I understand the need. But being limited to five places for four months…I can a lot more than just shop for milk. It may be forty years for you. It’s been a few months for me. I can help my people like I was meant to.”
Fury wiped his mouth. He reached into his oversized coat and withdrew two bottles. Much to Steve’s surprise, the bottles of beer were cold. Fury leaned back as he flicked off the lid and took a long sip. His eye eventually slid down to look back at an expectant Steve Rogers.
“In those forty years, the Nazis have fallen. H.Y.D.R.A. are still somewhere. On top of that shit, we have the U.S.S.R. now. Do you have any idea what a nuke is, Rogers? How about ten thousand aimed at us right now. Now, imagine what the world would say when a former super solder reappears from the dead on U.S. soil. They’ll think we’re breeding you guys again. We only just got over a damn superpower arms race thanks to Nathaniel Essex. It’s a headache.”
“So, I’m a liability?”
“Kinda.” Fury admitted without any hesitation and shrugged, “Look, we just trying to find the best place to put you. If I had my way, I’d have in a S.H.I.E.L.D. suit and hunting down H.Y.D.R.A. again. We just need to wait until the political situation calms down a little.”
Steve looked away in disappointment. He had fought in the cruellest moments of recent human history. He had held his friends as the shrapnel in their lungs slowly filled them with blood. He had seen the labour camps where the sun was so foreign for the captives that their skin dropped off in sheets. He had watched as forests were turned into ash and fire, kindled by the bodies of thousands of homesick conscripts. Yet, in all of those times, he had still fought. Despite every injury, he had stood for his nation. He had focussed on the ideals taught by family and teacher. Ideals that seemed to have been dismissed by the cynical and overanalytical.
Fury, deciding to end his lecture swiftly, took another swig of his beer. After several moments, Steve turned back to his superior.
“Can I at least have my shield back?”
Fury almost choked on his pizza and coughed several times. After taking another long sip, Fury gritted his teeth and interlaced his fingers.
“See, that belongs with the last issue. If people see you running around with that shield, hell will break loose. I already have a shit storming on my hands between the damn mutants and a pair of assassins that use bows. Fucking bows. Got Robin Hood on my agents’ asses. So, I don’t need Moscow causing issues because of that shield.”
Steve grunted in annoyance but was mature enough to filter his words carefully. There was little use in yelling or threatening one of the heads of the world’s most influential security agencies. There was even less use in yelling at someone as jaded and resilient as Nicholas Fury. Ever since Steve had awoken from his frozen slumber, Fury had been the main person he had spoken to. It had taken Steve less than thirty minutes to understand that the man was not someone idle or to attempt to manipulate.
Steve shrunk in his seat a little. It had been months since he had held the shield that Roosevelt had gifted him during his secret tour of Roger’s training compound. A rough, cold underground base of concrete and grim. Some nights Steve still missed the place, even with its hard best and bland food. A place that was meant to be filled with a platoon of super soldiers, yet only one ever settled within it. A fact that he was often reminded off by his superiors. Yet, he had made sure that he was worth every missing super solider. At least, he tried to.
Fury finished his third slice of pizza and hastily cleaned his lips and fingers on a greasy napkin. Within a matter of moments, the sharp man was wearing his coat once more and looking at Steve with a neutral expression.
“Be patient.”
“I can help my country.” Steve said earnestly as he looked up.
“Then help us by being patient. We’ll find something for you soon. In the meantime, please don’t screw with my operatives. Even if their abilities to be subtle are about to be corrected.” He grunted.
Steve stood up in respect once more and nodded to his superior. Fury gave him a dry smile before placing his beer in the small bin near the counter. He was gone a moment later.
Steve exhaled loudly and shook his head. He was a wasted asset. People were dying, being abused or experimented on. He had grown into a habit of watching the evening news closely. Out of sense of desperation or annoyance, he had begun to assess world events on how he would have helped. A terrorist incident could have been prevented by sending in a super soldier. A mass murderer could have been located and detained with Steve’s help. Whether or not these fantasies had any truth to them was not relevant. They were the signs of a man trapped within his life. Trapped within a time that he didn’t belong in. His friends were dead or dying, the latter of whom he was not allowed to visit. He was stronger than any man. He was faster. He healed quickly, too. All meant nothing as he sat on his couch moping. He needed to get out. Too many of his friends had died for him to be there, just so that he could sit around and do nothing. He was a soldier for his nation. That never left.
***
“…I know.” Hank murmured into the phone by his secondary lab, “Raymond, we’ve known each other for years. I know that you’re capable of giving a small conference presentation.” He laughed, “Look, I need to get back to testing some stuff. Can you pop by tomorrow with the updates? Jan keeps telling me that I need to stop winging board meetings. Yeah, I know.” He laughed again, “Okay, thanks. Have a good one. Don’t forget the updates. Yep. Night.”
He sighed as he placed the clunky phone on the receiver. While he certainly trusted Raymond, a man that he known since college, to represent the company on a simple conference run, Hank was beginning to miss the bigger buildings of Pym Technologies. Successes were still miniscule. Cubes exploded after four minutes. Janet had the foresight to bulk buy them, however even that was running out. Every possible variation that he had theorized over the years had failed. Every. Single. One. He could get non-living to shrink, that was no issue. Getting it to stay small was impossible. Such was the mindset of Hank as he peered at the messy whiteboard before him. Dozens of formulas were hastily written about. None had been tested, but it was clear that the man was becoming desperate. Whilst it had only been weeks of tests, it had been years of research. Years that were accumulating to nothing.
The weight of failure was making Hank’s chest heavy. They were close. Janet was pushing his work through in ways that made him laugh and grin. But even Janet was limited in her successes. Between the two of them, the formula was not working. Nothing was. The Pym Particle was still out of reach. He thought the words over several times as he slunk to his feet, hands in his hair. A silent scream of frustration escaped him as the memories of dozens of pages of crossed out variations hit him. They were close, but they were far away.
Hank stayed crouching for an unknown time, breathing heavily into his arms. It was only when he felt his throat become too dry for comfort that he decided it would be best to return to Janet in their home. He rose to his feet and lazily strapped on a basic HazMat suit, gloves and all. With cleaning materials in hand, he let his mind wander as he sprayed scolding cleaning liquids and scrapped down the glass tank. They would need to begin more variations soon, but Hank simply had no idea on what else to try. He was running out of materials and elements to aid to the compounds. A miserable feeling clung to him as he finished cleaning the splinters away from the tank. He moved on to the living materials tank.
His eyes narrowed in tired annoyance as he saw that the small timer was still on. Janet had clearly become distracted by company calls once again. To leave one’s work was amateur. Though, Hank couldn’t criticise her too much. He had a mild habit of using the restroom and forgetting almost all of his work afterwards. He clicked it off at ‘5:46:16’. His grumpiness at his wife’s laziness continued as he began to clean the second tank. He suddenly stopped. Leaning back, he quickly pulled off his breathing mask and placed a pair of reading glasses on his long nose. A small, white dot was directly in the middle of the tank. Hank’s heart was still. His mouth quivered. With gentle hands, he withdrew the base of the tank and placed it under a large microscope on the other end of the lab. He peered into it. He staggered back.
With wide eyes, his mouth flexed in several unreadable motions and a faint whimper escaped him. He was by the phone within seconds.
“Janet. Janet!”
“Hank? What’s wrong?”
“Lab. Now. Now. Now!” He laughed into the phone before quickly hanging up.
The sound of panicked footsteps echoed in the small lab after a minute. Janet’s clothes were stained from the curry that she had no doubt ruined as she registered the emotion in her husband’s voice. Before she could inquire as to what was wrong, the normally shy man nodded countless times and pointed to the microscope.
“Five hours. Five!” He yelled as she peered into microscope, “And possibly stable.”
Janet dropped the handtowel that she had been using to clean her fingers. Her mouth, much like Hank’s before her, was ajar. Within the base of the glass tank was a tiny mouse. One the size of an ant. Whilst clearly deceased, it was still miniscule. She turned to share the ecstatic smile that Hank wore, one that had only been worn when she had said yes to his proposal.
“What formula?!” He asked quickly.
“Um. Ah. Eight series. Eight point…seventeen?” She raced to her notes, “Eight point sixteen. It worked. Fuck me, it worked. We just…We need to figure out cause of death, but we did it.”
Her arms were soon around Hank as they pulled themselves into a tight hug. One that was followed by a loving smile as they looked at each other. They could feel the racing hearts in each other’s chest. They could hear the soft panting the other gave. They looked into each other for several more seconds before the excitement made Janet move first. Her lips hungry sought every piece of skin that she could reach. Hank hastily tugged and pulled at every piece of clothing near his hands. Within three minutes, the man had Janet’s exposed chest pressed against a table as he roughly took her from behind. The short, rapid sounds of grunts lifted into the air. They had worked it out. They had a formula. They had a Pym Particle. One that was stable. The victorious thoughts made Hank bite his lip and go faster, earning an ‘eep’ from his wife. He reached out around and held her hand, both of them squeezing each other as they drew near. As he did so, Hank leaned down so that his head was resting on Janet’s neck. Lazy lips kissed at her shoulder as he felt a familiar tightening and a beautiful sound from his left. He gave two more jerks before sighing and resting against her ass.
“I…I love you.” He panted into Janet’s ear.
It took her some time to catch her breath.
“I love you, too.” She murmured as she rolled her head to look at him.
She puckered her lips and gave him a soft kiss as they laid upon their ruined bench.
“You did it.” He chuckled softly, “You found it.”
“Had some help.” She mumbled, “The thing still died.”
Hank leaned back and carefully withdrew himself. Without bothering to clean himself or even put the pants around his ankles back on, he leaned against the wall. Janet slowly pushed herself up and watched the smile that he gave the machines to their right. Whilst he was never depressed, it had been many years since Janet had seen her introverted husband so gleeful. It made her own smile widen.
“We’ll send it in for tests in the morning. We’ll find out what killed it.”
“Darren. I trust Darren.” Janet stated as she looked for something to clean up with.
“Yeah.” Hank nodded, still looking at their work, “We don’t need something…premature to be announced. We can tell the board once we’ve figured out something more…permanent.”
Janet mumbled in acknowledgement as she made her way to the restroom. As she returned, she frowned as she saw Hank was still naked and leaning against the wall.
“You’re not eating like tha-”
“Let’s get a drink.” Hank looked at her with a soft smile.
Janet blinked at him several times.
“Like at Renaldo’s. I can see if they’re willing to get us a table. Maybe Tony can pull a f-”
“I mean at a bar. Just…a normal bar. Like we used to. Let’s…Let’s a drink to celebrate.”
Janet tilted her head as she walked towards him.
“We haven’t done that since we were kids in college.”
“And we’re been doing this since we were in college.” He pointed out.
Without thought for cleaning, he put on his pants and strode towards her. As he passed her, he slapped and squeezed her rear tightly. Janet blushed deeply and bit back a small laugh at the incredibly bold display.
“First round’s on me.” He called as he went looking for suitable clothes.
***
Steve blew out his cheeks as he left his local cinema in the early evening. As far as modern films went, Rambo First Blood: Part 2 was not exactly the most realistic thing that he had seen. In fact, if he had such a man in his unit, Steve was certain that the war would have been over within a matter of hours. Still, there were few things to do when only four other locations were allowed to be visited. He couldn’t even hope of running away given how purposefully tight his fortnightly allowances were. A plane ticket was simply not in the cards.
With a pained sense of routine, Steve wrapped his scarf around his neck, placed his thick glasses on, strapped a baseball cap to his head, and walked towards his apartment. It had taken four minutes in his original trip to the cinema to guess who his daily attendant was. A short, unsuspecting blonde with dimples had appeared in muddy reflections during several points of the day. They were adding variety now, Steve thought dully. The other followers had all had brown hair. He nodded politely to a person that he almost walked into, the both of them having become distracted by the sound of thunder. Steve stopped to look up. Thick clouds of an angry grey and black were forming. Some things never changed. Steve chuckled. Despite it being so technology forwards compared to the forties, it seemed that newsreaders still couldn’t predict the weather well. It was meant to be sunny and clear for the rest of the week.
An odd reaction happened to the rain. Many, like Steve, had been expecting a warm evening. As the first drops of rain touched their clothes, dozens scrambled and complained loudly. Steve felt himself be pushed in dozens of different directions as all attempted to find cover from the heavy rain. Steve smiled gently at the energetic displays. It was a smile that faded as he looked several metres in front of him. A small girl with dusty skin was crying out, trying to chase a man that had taken advantage of chaotic crowds to pinch an idle backpack. Steve waited, watching the crowds expectantly. Few even looked at the scene. Those that did, looked at the girl as if she were the problem.
Steve felt his legs moving before he realised that he was running. With unnaturally long strides, he stayed to the edge of the road to avoid the shifting crowds. The pair were a fair way in front of them, but Steve was making ground. With determined grimace, he tried his best to ignore the rain pouring into his eyes. Step by step, street by street. He was eventually upon the pair as the thief made an attempt to run down an alleyway. The girl had been even more determined than Steve to regain her blue and pink backpack. Unfortunately, that very determination had resulted in the girl being roughly grabbed by the throat and pushed away. Before the thief could resume his escape, Steve reached into a nearby bin and aggressively hurled a torn baseball into the man’s thigh.
The man wailed as if he had been struck by a bullet. He collapsed onto one near as Steve stepped near him. The girl watched with panicked eyes as the giant man easily threw away a punch that was thrown. The blonde shook his head in savage disapproval before roughly throwing the man into the wall. The man coughed and groaned as his body locked up. He rolled onto his side and froze as he finally took in the sheer size of the man defending the girl. His mouth gaped to utter silent nonsense as Steve ripped the bag from his hand.
“Did he take anything else, miss?”
The Middle-Eastern girl eyed Steve suspiciously, as if this was all some elaborate prank a cruel neighbour wanted to play. All she saw was kind, gentle eyes and a warm smile. The girl took the backpack back soon after.
“N-no.”
“Good.” He turned to the man on the ground, “If I find out you’ve done this again, there won’t be a third strike.”
The man groaned but nodded. Steve pulled him to his injured legs and threw him onto the street to run off immediately. Steve was not near his apartment. Nor was he near his local cinema or library or gym. For the first time in months, he was out of his two-mile radius. Curiously, he tried to peak through the rain to see if a certain blonde was hiding nearby. Perhaps, she wasn’t able to follow the pursuit. The child-like excitement at the thought made the tall man smile widely.
“I…I know you.”
Steve’s smile froze. Almost out of reflex, he touched his exposed hair and bare eyes. He had lost almost all facial cover during the run. Steve cleared his throat and did his best to avoid eye contact as he turned towards the young teen.
“I doubt tha-”
“I’m…I…” The girl broke into a series of croaks and whimpers, “I won’t tell anyone. Is…Is the serum an immortality thing?”
“What?” Steve perked up slightly.
The girl’s cheeks darkened, and she looked away shyly.
“I mean…You should be dead. Or sixty. You’re, like, thirty. Tops.”
Steve’s own cheeks reddened, and he smiled softly once more.
“I don’t know who you think I am. I’m Louis.”
The girl was not impressed, nor was she buying what Steve was selling. Her excited, yet nervous, energy never left as she continued.
“I did a report on you. It’s…That’s…so lame to say. I’m sorry. I, ah, don’t know what to say to someone like you.”
Steve looked at her for a moment before sighing deeply.
“School reports, huh? That common?”
“Kinda.” The girl shrugged, “Most eighth graders need to. Most people did theirs on the shield. I did…I did mine on your life before the serum.”
Steve had quickly noted that her breathing was turning into a panicked pant. Her fingers were nervously playing with themselves, and she was slowly backing away.
“What your name, kid?”
“Huh?” Her eyes widened.
“What’s your name?”
Her lips trembled.
“K…Kamala. Kamala Khan.”
Steve nodded as he registered the name. Between going off to Europe and waking up in a lab, Brooklyn had become increasingly diverse in who called it home. He peered into the street once more, making sure that there was no blonde in sight. Knowing S.H.I.E.L.D. however, she was probably out of sight. He turned back to Kamala and grinned once more.
“Well, Miss Khan, try to go home safe. Captain’s orders.”
Kamala’s lips twitched. Then they broke into a toothy grin. She threw her backpack on once more and took several steps into the rain before pausing. She looked back at him with a deep frown.
“Thanks for helping with the bag. You should do that more often. People miss you, Cap. Like, a lot. We have mutants and stuff now. We don’t have America’s finest anymore.” She looked down before attempting one last thing, “It’d be so amazing to have superhero back helping us.”
She gave a large wave as Steve stood there. The man was a mix of emotions. A wave of annoyance and frustration overcame him as he stood in the rain. He agreed with her. Her agreed with her entirely. He was being studied in schools, yet he was unable to help the very people in schools. He was a housecat, if anything. ‘America’s finest’. Steve let out a grunt at the thought. There were men still serving his country. He should be with them.
The sudden sullen mood quickly birthed a rebellious feeling. He made one last look at his surroundings before hastily throwing his jacket into a bin. Then his scarf. With a quick pace, he disappeared down the alleyway and took a sharp left down a new street. It was the nineteen-eighties in the city that never slept. Perhaps, it was time for the man to explore for once instead of being locked in.
***
Hank smiled as he held the door open for Janet. To their amazement, the old and very seedy bar near the bridge was still operating. The lighting was horrible, making the dark wooden walls and floor generate an almost night-like atmosphere. Most of the stools and benches were stained and torn. The music was blaring through a barely operating system. It was the exact same place that the pair had visited when they had first moved to New York. It was frequented often due to its cheap drinks, mainly. New York was not a cheap city to live in, something that the Pyms learnt the hard way for several years. It was only when their company had actually landed investors that the pair could afford things called ‘restaurants’.
Most of the bar was already filled with regulars. Large men with many tattoos and scars that stopped their conversations to eye the unusual meat that had entered their nest. Many grunted in mild distain before turning back on their stools or resuming their games of pool. The pair wrinkled their noses. The thick smell of cigarettes had almost replaced all of the oxygen in the building. There were no cameras, no investors, no news. It was just people. For that, the Pyms were already very happy in their choice of location.
Hank took off his red, leather jacket as they sat in one of the stalls by the back. Janet had also gone for a lowkey appearance. Her hair was tied back and she wore a simple pair of jeans with a blue blouse. Already knowing her order, he winked at her and made his way to the bar. Janet watched as the eager man walked using sore legs. Sore legs that were caused when Janet had seeing her changing and decided that a second round was in order, following their success. They had always been a rather active pair when breakthroughs happened, but this was on an entirely different level. Hank, while not prudish, was still reserved in many ways. A mild desire to do more joint projects together formed as she stared at his rear.
“Hi.” Hank smiled awkwardly at the bartender, “Vodka tonic, and a rum and coke.”
The fat, bald man grunted before throwing his handtowel near the sink. As he lumbered away to the stacked bottles, Hank idly tapped the bar. His mind still drifted to the tiny, albeit dead, mouse in the lab. When they had dropped it off to an initially confused, and then bewildered, Darren Cross for urgent testing, it was still shrunken. It had made six hours of stable size alteration. Needless to say, his young research assistant swore to keep his mouth shut as he took the box into his own, albeit much smaller, home research station. Darren, while a hungry man like Hank, was a loyal figure. Janet would often tease her husband that Darren had a crush on Hank, much to the latter’s annoyance.
“You’re in a good mood.”
Hank smiled and turned to see a very large, blonde man sipping a beer. His eyes drifted away from the baseball game on the small screen above them, revealing very blue orbs. He was handsome, too. If Janet were near, Hank would have a very hard time keeping her attention. There was a strange feeling of familiarity about the man. Hank couldn’t quite understand it, yet he felt very comfortable near him. There was a warmth to his presence, and a sense of strength of being near him.
“Ah, research breakthrough. Lame, but eh.”
“No, congratulations.” The man said, surprising Hank by offering him his hand, “Do you want a round?”
“No, that’s…That’s fine.” Hank grimaced as he noticed how lame his voice sounded, “Watching the game?”
“Yeah.” The blonde sighed, “Don’t really know who to follow, though.”
“New follower?”
The man opened his mouth but quickly shut it, as if filtering a comment. Instead, he smiled and shrugged.
“A guess.”
“Hmm. I prefer volleyball.” Hank said without thinking.
His eyes widened in embarrassment and noticed a raised eyebrow being offered to him. He chuckled and hastily decided to change topics.
“What do you do?”
The man took a sip of his beer. His eyes scattered about and a cynical part of Hank guessed that he was using the time to make up a lie.
“Fitness.”
“Well, of course.” Hank laughed in a nerdish way, “You look the part. I mean, you look like a super so…”
Hank didn’t notice that his order was in front of him. His mouth dropped and, for some unknown reason, he found himself sitting next to the man that he now recognised. Steve Rogers. The first super soldier. The man that crippled countless Nazi lines. Captain America.
“Twelve bucks.” Someone wheezed.
With only a single glance at his wall, he threw the bartender a note and mumbled something about the change. Steve became agitated. Looking away, he mumbled something and finished his beer. However, as he rose, he felt a hand on his well-defined arm.
“Have drinks with me and my wife. Please.” Hank whispered, “I’ll pay.”
“It’s late.” Steve smiled sadly, “I’m Louis. Nice to mee-”
“Hank, if you’ve replaced me with this lovely…Holy fuck.”
Steve almost gagged at the sound of such language coming from a beautiful woman. Janet stood dumbstruck as she took in the form of the man that had been on so many of her father’s old papers and notes. The married pair could easily be mistaken for gapping fish. While humorous, it was not the quiet time that Steve needed. He rose once more.
“I should go.”
“You most certainly will not.” Janet hissed as she inspected every detail that she could in such a dark bar, “It really is you. You’re…You’re dead.” She whispered, “Are you a mutant?”
“No.” Steve shook his head, “I’m just Lou-”
“She’s very smart.” Hank sipped his drink idly, “My advice is don’t try to hoodwink her. I’ve tried.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” A dozen small smiles formed and faded on Janet’s lips, “Please. Have a drink with us. Celebrate with us. My husband and I have made a massive breakthrough. We won’t say anything to anyone. We swear.”
“We’d consider it our patriotic duty.” Hank smiled, “Anyway, what else have you got planned for tonight?”
Steve’s desire for a single normal evening broke him down. Besides, they had already seen past his attempted disguise that was comprised of an ugly coat that he found abandoned on a street. The unusual trio squeezed into a small stall towards the back. Two sets of fascinated, eager and nervous eyes dug into Steve’s damp skin. He self-consciously took many sips of his beer, silently berating the fact that his metabolism prevented some of the finer parts of being drunk from occurring. Still, he didn’t think either person was ill meaning or a threat. If surviving the great war in history had taught Steve anything, it was how to be aware of danger from both enemy and supposed friend. The only concern was the rate at which a very shaky Janet was finishing her drink.
“Can I ask how you survived?” Janet whispered, “I mean, I did a report on your death in high school. Everything thinks you’re dead.”
“You too?” Steve smiled and chuckled gently, “I don’t…think I’m that interesting, really. Aside from the formula. Um, I don’t know I can mention it.” Steve said weakly.
Janet stroked her short chin and narrowed her eyes.
“Was it the serum?” Steve took a moment to think before grimacing and shrugging, “Hmm. Are you immortal?”
“No.”
“I like this game.” Hank grinned, already two drinks in, “Aliens?”
“No.”
“Nazis?” Janet asked.
“Nazi aliens?”
“Kind of and no. Look, I can’t really talk about it. I’m…not sure if I’m meant to be alive, officially.”
The married pair exchanged cynical eyes and Janet shrugged.
“We deal with the government, too. They’re very iffy people, in our opinion?”
“Yeah? What do you folks do? Aside from ‘science’.”
“Engineers. Well, recent engineers.” Hank sighed, “Originally, we were physicists. Not much funding in that, though. Needed to pay the rent, so we swapped near the end of our Ph.Ds.”
“We build small computers and parts for space shuttles and satellites.” Janet said proudly, “I don’t know if you were around for the ‘Horizon’ launch? We programmed its command module.”
“Wow.” Steve said in astonishment, “That’s…incredible. That’s really amazing. Must be planning something big to top that.”
The pair became awfully silent. In fact, Hank took such a large sip of his drink that he finished it. Janet simply pursed her lips and tapped a nail against the wood.
“Something like that.” She whispered, as if lost in a thought.
“What about you? What’s Captain America doing?”
A level of shame overcame the man. He bit his lip several times before giving a genuine response.
“Reading. Work out. Sometimes I see films. The effects that you can all do is outstanding.”
A wicked grin overcame Janet.
“You can’t tell us, can you?” She turned to her husband, “He’s about to fly off to Cuba or something on a mission.”
A rough snort cut off her next joke. As she looked at the man, all she saw was someone despondent and embittered over something. She chose to quickly drop the subject, but Hank lacked the social awareness to know to stop.
“That’s why we’ve never heard anything. You haven’t done anything.”
“Hank.” Janet hissed softly, yet Hank looked suddenly annoyed.
“People need you. Do you have any idea of what’s been happening in the last five years? Mutants. Terrorists. Animal attacks in the dozens. Do you have any idea what having Captain America helping would do to peo-”
“I know.” Steve coolly, quickly removing Hank’s frustrating and replacing it with guilt, “I know that people need help. But I can’t. This…This is the furthest I’ve been in a long while.”
“Is it the Russians?” Hank whispered and Janet became to frantically look around in case of a nearby spy.
“No. Home.” He sighed, “I should probably go. It’s been good to have a drink, but-”
“Do you have your shield?” Hank asked randomly.
Janet turned to him curiously, not understanding where he was heading. Steve looked around before blushing somewhat in humiliation.
“No. I shouldn’t be saying this.” He sighed, “It’s…kept away. Very secure.”
Hank became quiet. Very quiet. A moment later, he turned to Janet. It took her less than a second to understand her husband’s mind. She gave several warning glares and tilts of the head, whilst Hank pleaded and pouted. The silent exchange was as amusing as it was unsettling to the soldier.
“Is there something wrong?” He asked with concern.
Janet gave Hank one last glare, but the alcohol had hit the lightweight. With the high of success in his mind, the pleasure of recent sex still in his legs, and the sweet taste of rum on his lips, he opened his mouth.
“We can’t promise anything.”
“Hank.” Janet hissed again, almost frantic in her expression.
“We can help Captain America.” He whispered as he turned to her.
“We did one damn test. Settle down, boy.”
“You solved the stabilisation issue.”
“Hank, we don’t know how to reverse it. You want to stay like an ant for your life?”
“Reversing it is simple. We just swap the amounts of Compound T and Compound L.”
“I’m sorry, but are you an undergrad again? It’s not that simple, and you know it.”
“We test on more mice to prove the stabilisation. Then, we test the reversing formula. Then we move onto humans.”
“In what, days?”
“What’s going on here?” Steve tried again.
Janet spoke before her foolish husband could.
“You’ve shared secrets to strangers. It’s only fair that we also do the same.” She glared at her husband yet again, “My husband, when he’s not being a loudmouth, has been working on an amazing technology. The ability to shrink atomic mass. A toy cube to the size of a coin, for example. As of this morning, we’ve had one,” She turned to Hank as she said this, “successful test on a live animal.”
Steve’s eyes were wide as he tried to understand what was being described. Frankly, it sounded as if it were a science-fiction comic strip, like the ones that he would read or trace in his idle time. While he had seen stranger things since re-awakening, the ability to reshape an object’s size was certainly up there.
“But if we made it work on a human,” Hank blurted, making Janet shake her head and give up, “we could sneak in and get your shield.”
“We?”
“You?”
Hank looked at the two of them in complete confusion. In his descending mind, it simply wasn’t ethical to have another man suffer due to his miscalculations. A sober part of his mind knew that he was rushing things, but regardless, he would be the first to try the serum. He simply couldn’t live with the guilt of another’s injury or possible death. It was a sobering thought, one that sadly shook away hopes of instant success. Janet was right. One tiny, yet dead, mouse was not the same as shrinking a human. It was not enough to aid Captain America. More tests were needed. More successes were yet to be achieved.
“Why wouldn’t I test the serum on myself first? It’s only fair, right?” He sighed and turned to Janet, “You’re right. We, uh, need to do more tests. I…I get excited by my work.” He sighed once more.
Janet’s lip twitched and she reached out to gently stroke his knuckles. Whether it was guilt or the vodka, something made Janet offer a rather unusual proposal.
“Is there a way to contact you when we have something to offer?” Both men looked at her in confusion, “The world could use you again, Cap. These animal attacks alone, if they are animal attacks…”
“Not again.” Hank sighed.
“I’m just saying it’s odd.”
“You think they’re mutants?” Steve asked, only just leaving his thoughts on the shrinking technology they had mentioned.
One of the many curious things that Steve was still struggling to understand was the existence of mutants. He had heard stories of man with dagger-like bones and feral teeth in the war, yet he had never actually seen anything of the like. Having seen so much of them in the news, however, was truly fascinating. In fact, Steve enjoyed their existence for a very odd reason: they humbled him. He was no longer the craziest person in the world. In fact, a man at the peak of physical condition seemed rather dull compared to a wanted terrorist that could control magnetism.
“No. No, I do not.” Janet shook her head, making Hank put his head in his hand, “At least, I think it’s one or a small group. It’s all the same signs and murder methods and the like! You can’t tell me that we have a group of rabid bears on the loose.” She challenged Hank, who knew better than to challenge her on the topic, “I think it’s a killer. Maybe a teleporter, if those exist.”
Steve sipped on his beer as he thought to himself. The Pyms were a strange and loud lot, yet they were welcomed company. Regardless of if their shrinking technology actually worked, they had aided him in providing at least one direct focus: Was S.H.I.E.L.D. looking into the attacks. A question that would need to be handled delicately when asked.
***
The vampiric body was motionless upon the rain-soaked grass. The rancid smell of burning flesh still lingered in the air, but neither living party cared much for it. A large man, with exposed arms the size of axes, removed his silver boot from the body below. Its legs remained that of a human’s. Its torso and head could easily be mistaken for burnt wood. A horrific layer of black, chipped skin that was burnt coloured the face and shoulder. It was a single shoulder that remained. The left arm had been entirely removed by the blow that smote the vampire’s face. It had been a swift attack. A blink would have been enough to miss it. Yet, the weight of the weapon that caused it shook the entire park and the houses beyond.
The remaining vampire, a young woman with muddied red hair, bared her fangs in desperate panic. She backed into a line of trees of the mighty man before her stepped close. His form was hidden in a blue and grey cloak, yet was exposed terrified her. He was a broad man, with a square jaw. Behind his hood, his nose poked out in a slightly crooked manner. His hair was golden and poked out from around his revealed neck. His eyes flashed with the same purple that soaked the lightning around his weapon. A thick, square hammer with many runes and carvings. The lightning coloured many of them in a fantastical way that glowed in the darkness of the night. Yet, despite its awe-inducing design, the handle was oddly short and poorly woven in leather. In fact, one would be forgiven for thinking the handle was a mere afterthought to the head of the hammer. Regardless, it was enough for nearly all foes to quiver at the sight of it. Much like the vampire was now.
“You speak truth, and I shall let you live.” The man’s voice was baritone and almost vibrated in the wind.
The vampire said nothing. She merely flared her fangs as she tried to guess the best angle of running. Her fellow vampire had been struck down out of nowhere, the attack lasting a mere moment. She was fast, but even she obedient the laws of physics, which he seemed to mock. The man in question tightened his grip on his hammer, making her eyes widen.
“Varnae.” He said in a commanding voice, “The foul demon infesting this realm. I know of your creator, demon-spawn. Tell of Varnae’s location, and you shall walk freely.”
The mention of the name made the girl panic. Her eyes drifted back to the hammer as she questioned how she would like to die. As soon as the being before her arrive, it was not a matter of if her fate was sealed. It was merely a question of how.
“I…I can’t.”
“You refuse me?”
The woman would have cried if she could. She fell to her knees in a pathetic display of misery as the gravity of the situation collided with her. True fear overcame her, unlike any other moment in her life. She was allowed no time for repentance. A large, muscular hand latched onto her jaw and pulled her above the ground. With slitted eyes, the ginger saw only apathy as a hammer was held less than a metre away. She closed her eyes as she uttered a barely audible prayer to God.
“You pray to me for forgiveness?” The being was genuinely confused, “Speak clearly. I wish to hear your wishes for Hel.”
“Not you.” The woman whispered with a pained face, “God.”
“Ah. A human faith? You must not have followed him here, then.” The being observed before hissing, “A local creation.”
“Just…kill me already.” The woman practically sobbed.
The being did not see bravery or a stubborn desire to keep secrets in her face. He only saw terror. A terror that was worth suffering his hammer to avoid. A deep exhale tickled her face as the being questioned several things for a moment. In fact, he took so long to act that the woman thought that he was trying to strangle her, not knowing that she didn’t need to breathe. A loud thud made her shake. She felt nothing. After several tentative moments, she opened her eyes to see that his hammer was by his boots.
“You fear Varnae more than Mjolnir, even after seeing her strike a foe. Few in the Nine Realms offer more terror than the greatest of weapons.” Behind the cloak, she could see that his eyes were uncertain, even nervous, about something, “So, I suggest this: Tell me a location and I will ensure your safety. I swear it on the Allfather and the Halls of the Aesir.”
He returned to being stoic as she shook her head as much as she could whilst in his grip.
“He’ll…kill me.”
“As shall I, if you do not help me.”
“He’ll do worse.”
She meant everything that she said, and he knew it. Much to his frustration, she was not the only of Varnae’s ilk to have such a terror of him. Three others on that day had preferred death over risking a betrayal of Varnae. One had actually run into Mjolnir as a way of a quick end. Whatever this foe was, it truly commanded a level of fear that the man had never seen. A much younger, foolish yet braver version of the being would have a relished the challenge. Such confidence fades when one sees battles turn to slaughters, cities turn to rubble, and child turned into lifeless caskets. Failures that led invitations into warm halls of mead turning into shunning towards the cold and barren.
“You’re Thor.” The vampire croaked, drawing his attention away from his pained memories, “Aesir. Asgardian.” She tried to clear her throat, “He knows you were sent. He…He’s not worried. Someone told him…you were coming.” She whimpered, “He shrugged.”
Thor’s initial anger at the arrogance quickly, and silently, turned into a cold fear that he dared not admit. He was known to this realm. He had lived amongst it in his youth. Toiled with its women. Battled its enemies. Drank its attempts a good mead. Midgard knew him and, more importantly, his might. Yet, Varnae cared so little. Perhaps, it was a lie. Thor doubted it. His half-brothers Baldr and Vali had spoken much on Varnae before Thor was thrown towards his quest. His path. A path that ld to a vampiric demon that had none had slain in over two thousand years. A path that led to an enemy known in Asgard or Vanaheim dared to even visit, let alone challenge. A path that Thor’s own father knew would lead to death, yet had sent him towards its end. A path that seemed so meaningless, even as he held the newborn vampire’s throat. A path that was a punishment.
To her shock, her throat was released. Her feet bounced onto the wet ground, but she dared not move. Thor stepped back and flexed his hand. Mjolnir flew into it immediately. His eyes never left her shaking form.
“I shall not kill you.”
“I’m already dead.” She spat, “So, just do it.”
The desperation in her voice was almost sickening to Thor. Why would a warrior be so desperate to find a quick end? What possible fate did Varnae offer? It mattered little. At least, little as of that moment. Vampires were easy to track, when one knew what magical scents to follow. Whilst he was not one of Freyja’s most engaged students, he knew enough to at least smell foul magic.
“If you are already dead, why not aid me?” He challenged as he crossed his armed, “You are clearly not of Varnae’s kind. A meal at first, I do not doubt. Vampires are a simple folk, as are their habits. A human vampire. What human would choose such a cursed life? You? I doubt it, maiden. Aid me in ensuring no others are turned. Aid my hammer in destroying the foe that wronged life.”
Whilst a clear and obvious ploy, the vampire did admittedly find herself torn. She had already spoken to the god, and he was claiming to let her live. An odd occurrence to a spectator, especially one with violent and clinically psychopathic tendencies. One that had spies everywhere to ensure no vampire caused too much of scene when hunting. They were being watched. She knew it, and he no doubt did, too. She would be found and torn apart in front of her creator. A horrible feeling sunk into her gut. She was already dead. Twice over. Once when she was changed, the other when she would be mutilated. She was meant to be a teacher. She was about to start college. Yet, she was robbed of it. It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to lose everything? She shouldn’t have to die because she was out late in the city. It wasn’t fair. An unfairness that no one else deserved. No one else should have such a horrible end to their lives.
“I’ve only ever seen a warehouse by the waterfront.” She whispered, “It’s where the…new ones are brought and kept for a while.”
“A warehouse?”
“A…It’s a big, concrete building to the north of the city. It’s where they store things.”
Thor thought the news over carefully.
“How many creatures dwell within?”
“When I was there, maybe two dozen? I don’t know.”
Two dozen human vampires was not an obscene enemy to face. Thor had certainly dealt with worse in his thirteen hundred year life. Yet, it was nothing to scoff at, either. They were fast and confident in numbers. Whilst none had bitten him that day, many had come close. Two dozen, as well as Varnae. Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir. A mighty battle. One worth a song about. Perhaps, one worth Odin’s attention.
“What is your name, maiden?”
The question took the vampire off guard and it took her several moments to respond.
“Jackie. Jackie Falsworth.” The redhead answered in an unsure tone.
“Jackie Falsworth, I request that you refrain from blood until I have slaughtered Varnae. Break this command, and I shall unleash Mjolnir opinion.” His voice was eerily calm and contained as he continued his threat, “Run. Flee from this city from your kin.”
“There’s nowhere I can run.” Her jaw was trembling, “They’ll catch me.”
Thor gave it some consideration. She was too risky to offer a place at his side. She may quickly turn allegiances and attempt to feast on his thick blood. Still, she was of use, entirely willing or not. He had no desire to be cruel. He had given and experienced enough such cruelty in his life. He longer had taste for it. His solution came to him as he dwelt on his recent journey to Midgard and the cause behind such a journey.
“You know this land?”
“Y-Yes?”
“There is a path.” Thor paused to remember before continuing with booming confidence, “Bleecker…street. There is a wood and stone building with an odd circle on its green door. Go. When a human attacks you, and he will, claim I offered you sanctuary. I cannot claim that he will stop his assault, but he is my debt. Remind him of that.”
Bleecker Street. That wasn’t too far away. If she ran fast enough, she could maybe make it before anyone caught her. She eyed the cloaked god one last time, working out if this was some trick or cruel hunting technique that Norse gods had. He was blank in the face that he offered her. His eyes suddenly drifted towards the trees and poorly maintained ferns around them. He stretched out his hand and the sky quaked.
“Go.” He commanded.
The vampire took his advice immediately. With desperate speed, she clawed and hissed and gnashed as her formed blurred through the woods. It became silent. The wind danced amongst the leaves and the trees creaked as branches swayed. Thor glared into the wooden surroundings with contempt. Hiding behind veils of illusion. A pathetic and cowardly tactic. A notion a true warrior would throw away in disgust.
“You may hide for now. But know this, I will find you Varnae. I will shatter your skull, like the thousands that have come before you. Jotunheim had rivers formed from my blows. You may hide for now, but by the prince of the Aesir, lord of the skies, rider of the chariot of thunder, you shall crumble.”
Upon the wind, there was a single, mocking sentence that was carried gently towards Thor.
“The former prince of the Aesir.”
The murmur sunk into Thor’s mind. The dark sky violently cracked as dozens of streams of purple and blue coloured it.
***
A/N: Hi everyone!
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying it. I hope you like Steve and Thor’s introduction. Thor will be flushed out more in the next chapter, especially when he meets the final member of the team. I just didn’t want to cram too much into this chapter, and I felt like there needs to be a build up with the Pym Particles, otherwise it’s just odd that they suddenly have it. IDK. I overthink things.
Next chapter will unite the existing members and introduce the villain. It’s an obscure one, but hey, I like the weirdly specific Marvel villains most. And yes, there shall be more Jen/Peter beginning to ‘mingle’ more. Now that everyone (except one) had been introduce, the characters will be more common in each chapter now.
If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. Thank you so much for comments and kudos already, they’re fantastic to see and it’s fun that people are actually enjoying this story! Regardless of commenting, though, I hope everyone has a great weekend!
Fact of the chapter: So, newborn babies can’t breathe using their mouths, only their noses, for the first few months. Yet, they also have really small nasal cavities which are developing. Which is why babies, sometimes, sound like pugs when they’re sleeping. So, if you’ve ever confused a sleeping baby with a pug, it’s okay. Others have had that very specific thing happen, too…
Chapter 4: What Strange Bedfellows, Indeed
Chapter Text
Steve knew that he had caused an issue from the moment that he approached his apartment building. Even with the evening rain bearing down upon his eyes, he could still make out strange people lurking nearby. People whom he had never seen walked past, let alone enter, the building. They all eyed him with the sides of their faces as he passed them, doing their best to be subtle. Steve never glanced at any of them, remaining calm as he entered the narrow hallway. Within the main walkway stood two women that Steve had never seen before. They both looked at him with stoic, seemingly unimpressed, expressions. It was the same expression that the people outside were giving him, as well. Steve said nothing as he entered the elevator. His floor was quiet. By the sight of the countless wet footprints on the wooden floors, however, there had been many visitors within the last hour. All had quickly left before he had arrived, it seemed.
His door was unlocked. There was no shock to that occurrence. Standing around his table was a tall man with rough expression on his scarred features. He was well-built and stood proud. His dark hair flopped down his slim cheeks. The most uncomfortable part of the man was his dark, beady eyes. They were small and very intense when they fell upon a person. He turned to look from Steve’s ‘neighbour’, Kate Waynesboro, to the man suddenly entering the home. Steve had met this man only once when he within the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility: Brock Rumlow, the leader of S.T.R.I.K.E. He was an odd inclusion to Steve’s house. The other ‘guests’ in the building were all intelligence-based operatives. S.T.R.I.K.E. were far more hands on in how they dealt with matters, making Steve question just how much trouble he had given himself.
“Cap.” Rumlow acknowledged with a baritone as he stepped forward, “You had us worried for a minute.”
It wasn’t a kind or gentle statement. It was a barely hidden threat.
“I only stretched my legs.” Steve said in a neutral voice.
Rumlow stepped forwards again and gave the man a stiff gaze. His attempt at intimidating the much larger man failed, however, as Steve simply stayed passive and blank. He had faced worse, after all. Eventually, seeing no victory, Rumlow took a reluctant step back.
“Some Muslim kid got her backpack stolen. Nice of you to retrieve it.” Rumlow nodded mockingly, “What happened afterwards?”
“Afterwards?” Steve frowned, already perturbed by Rumlow’s overly harsh tone.
“You’ve been gone for four hours.”
“It took me a while to catch up to the thief.” Steve said with a gentle smile.
Rumlow was not amused. His mouth curled into a foul expression. Before any direct threat could be made, Kate cleared her throat. Amongst the two men, the raven-haired woman simply looked miniscule.
“We need to ask you some questions, Steve. We also need to search you, if you could spread your arms out.”
The questions ran long into the early morning. S.H.I.E.L.D. did not handle possible assets disappearing well. Steve sat stiffly at the table as the hours dripped by in slow, forced movements. As each question was asked, Kate’s eyes never left Steve’s. It was a second layer to the game that they were playing. Spot the lie. Each answer uttered was short and to the point, offering just enough detail to possibly being honest but without enough leeway to be vague. It was soon clear that Steve had been taught how to handle interrogations at some point in his military career. It only added to Kate’s frustration as she jotted down everything that was said. Rumlow stood behind her, arms crossed as he silently observed Steve. The latter never looked up. In fact, he barely registered Rumlow as still being in the room.
It was almost four in the morning when the door opened once more. With a deep exhale, Kate immediately slid her notes into a satchel and rose as a tall, dark man entered the living room. Rumlow nodded in respect before leading Kate out of the room. A slight smile formed on Steve’s lip as he saw Rumlow’s look of irritation. A moment of silence passed, only interrupted by Steve’s strong breathing. Eventually, he rose stiff and placed his arms behind his back as if he were speaking to his old drill sergeant.
“Ran off after a bag thief.” Fury said with a shake of his head, “You know, you’re a pain in the ass. The day we talk about needing to stay to routine, you literally make me look like an idiot.” Fury’s tone grew sharper, “I don’t think you quite get this. I’m in the middle of trying to prove to my superiors that you should be in the field. I don’t need this. Neither of us do.”
“He was going to hurt her.” Steve said earnestly.
Fury crossed his arms and titled his head.
“Did he run for four hours? Did you get his number? I want that type of speed for S.H.I.E.L.D. Christ knows, there’s already a damn mutant who can do that.” The sarcasm left his voice, “You weren’t after that girl for four hours.”
A flare of irritation hit the soldier, but he did his best to calm himself. He was a soldier, not an idiot. He didn’t need to be lectured like one. Yet, he said nothing as his chest rose and sunk. Fury was his superior, after all. Considerable respect was due to man who had gained the rank that he had.
“I went to a sports bar.” Steve admitted, “Watched the Mets. Had an actual beer. Spoke to actual people.” Fury rolled his eye, prompting Steve to continue, “Sir, it was the best night I’ve had in months.”
“Yeah, well, I sure hope it was. Excursions will need to be canned for a while, until we can trust you.”
Fury noticed an unusual expression form as he finished. Steve’s eyes narrowed in frustration and his lips became a thin line.
“With complete respect, I’m not a child.” A moment of deep exhales passed, “And I didn’t think that I was a prisoner in my own country.”
Fury eyed him closely, quickly gauging the newfound situation. He had survived for decades in a field where man died young. He knew a volatile situation when it was about to form and fester. He wasn’t surprised, not particularly. America’s favourite soldier was a noble one. One that refused to sit in the sidelines whilst his friends and fellow soldiers were shot at. Despite his fame amongst the common man, it was his heart that made so many superior officers loathe having him within their ranks. It’s what separate him from typical grunts. He didn’t so much as care for his life, but mainly those around him. It was that, as well as the formula within his blood, that drew Fury’s attention. When the bald man spoke, it was far softer.
“Look, the world’s different. We have less…obvious enemies to our country. We need every man and woman on the same page, if that’s even possible anymore. I know that you want to help people. I want you to, as well. But there are powerful people that need convincing first.” Steve clenched his jaw, “You’ve been gone a long time. People are only just remembering the type of man that you are.”
“A problem?” Steve asked curtly.
“For some, but not me.” Fury said, much to Steve’s surprise, “Look, trust me. Just…be patient and we’ll have you on the field soon.”
Steve mood shifted from annoyance and upset to coldly curious. He lightly tapped the newspaper that Rumlow had taken from his pocket. Fury flicked his eye to scan it briefly.
“Is S.H.I.E.L.D. doing anything about the attacks?”
Fury snorted, only irritating Steve further.
“Want us to call animal control? Send them more funding? Steve, tha-”
“Those aren’t animals.”
A tense moment passed as each man examined the other closely. It was Fury, whose face had become stoic once more, that broke the silence.
“There are other departments that are looking into it.” He said carefully.
“So, there is something wrong? Isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. concerned about homeland security?”
Fury rolled his jaw for a moment in order to ease some stress. He didn’t need to accidently backhand the soldier, after all. He sighed and took several steps to Steve’s side as he thought.
“We looked into it. I will admit, briefly. We couldn’t find anything, so we passed it along to another department that’s more skilled in this area.”
“Which one?” Steve asked immediately.
“Classified.”
“Of course.” Steve smiled and crossed his arms, “So, we waited as more deaths happen.”
“Rogers, what do you want us to do, exactly?”
“Give me my shield. Let me investigate.”
“For the love of…You’re one person. We’re an intelligence agency. If we didn’t find anything, you sure as hell won’t.” Fury huffed.
“I can try. That’s all any of us can do. I can try.”
“Yeah? And what happens when someone finds out who you are as you’re investigating a bear attack, and has a sniper take you out from a rooftop?”
“So, we just ignore the problem, sir?” Steve looked disgusted.
“We have other people looking into it. Let them do their job.”
“You’re not letting me do mine, sir.”
The conversation had already dragged out long than Fury had expected. Steve Rogers was a far more stubborn man than his reports ever gave him credit for. Part of Fury was impressed, another was tired and wanted to sleep. He gave Steve one last look of warning. The tall man was a rosy red and almost panting. The look that he was giving Fury was pure disappointment.
“We’ll be watching you. Your food will be delivered. We’ll talk again next week about where to go from here.”
Steve said nothing. He simply stood tall and stared out to the space in front of him. Now was not the time for questions or remarks. It was already a lost cause. Far more careful planning was needed before he could address the gruesome murders. He may be one man, but he could at least contribute as one more man.
Fury nodded to him before strolling outside and closing the door. Steve was silent as he eyed the lounge room. The couch. The cheap ornaments that reminded him of the forties. The glasses in the cabinet. He took everything in the best that he could, seeing if anything was out of place. He was not foolish. He was well aware of the spying techniques that S.H.I.E.L.D. had adopted since his frozen sleep. He knew to play the part of ignorant. Due to this, appeared to mutter and pace for several minutes. The words meant nothing, but they were low enough that they were barely above a whisper. Eventually, he migrated to the television and pretended to watch the news and then some amateur basketball. His eyes were glassy and lazily peering forward, but the man appeared to be watching well enough.
He did this for about twenty minutes. With a faked yawn, he rose and slowly walked to the bathroom. His body flushed as he stripped. His eyes tried to subtly flicker around. He could spot nothing, but he knew that he was now being watched. For earning S.H.I.E.L.D. ire, he knew that he had also earned cameras and recording devices. Part of him suddenly questioned if it was a new development. Perhaps, he was being optimistic, and the equipment had always been installed. Perhaps, he was being paranoid, and there was no equipment at all. He didn’t take the chance. People needed him, and the violent murders needed to be addressed. He turned on his shower as loudly as he could. As he grabbed his toothbrush, he stepped into the foggy, small chamber. A few moments of idle cleaning took place before he reached into his mouth as he looked into the back corner. While it appeared that he was brushing his teeth, he was really retrieving something that the Pyms had given him. A tiny wire with two circuits that were the size of teeth. He pressed down on one of the circuits, doing his best to continue ‘brushing’ his teeth whilst not getting the device wet. Soon, it flashed blue twice.
“Hank.” He whispered as he placed the device close to his lips, “Are you still willing to help?”
***
Darren Cross was a short, beastly man with frolicking black hair, noticeable sideburns and a wide nose. He was not ugly, but he was hardly handsome. Years of working on junkyard cars had made his hands rough and scarred. His skin constantly stunk of the oil and materials that he and Hank worked with. While his typical foray was the actual construction of Pym Technology’s equipment, his passion still lived within the chemical side of things. It was through that interest that he first met Hank whilst they attended on scholarships. Both were poor, bland looking, and had their heads in the stars. A friendship formed within hours of that first lecture.
The portly man handed back the small sheet of paper to the Pyms, a worn smile on his face as he did so. Both Hank and Janet’s mouths slowly dipped open as they inspected the computer’s summary.
“Oxygen deprivation?” Hank whispered, “Of course.”
“Little fellows suffocated to death.” Darren nodded, gesturing to the small box at his side, “Their lungs didn’t change or adapt to needing to process such larger oxygen molecules. Their lungs couldn’t break anything down.”
The mice were still shrunken. To all three of their amazement, the Pym Particles had latched onto the atomic structure in a near permanent state. They were reaching well over a day in terms of remaining small. Hank’s eyes were bright, the man having finally worked out a key part of his failure.
Janet was delighted as well, an impish smile on the brunette’s face already formed.
“I guess…a breathing apparatus would be needed.” She mused, “Something that broke down the oxygen into breathable amounts for smaller lungs.”
“And a suit, like you suggested.” Hank murmured.
Janet suddenly frowned and turned to her husband.
“Are we still talking about animals?” She asked carefully.
Hank scoffed and looked as if she were mad. It was a condescending look that she did not appreciate in the slightest.
“Jan, you were the one to really push this recently, not me.”
“I suggested that we move from non-living to living materials. Sheep. Cows. Chickens. Not people. Not so soon, at least. We don’t know the side effects of this stuff on humans. And we still don’t know how to reverse it. It could leave someone stuck as a bug forever.”
Hank smirked. Reaching into his back pocket, he quickly placed a crumpled note on the table. Janet sighed and read it. It was a series of equations. No. It was a single formula. Her back tightened as she understood quickly. He had already produced a reversing serum to counteract the Pym Particle. From the looks of things, it was almost identical to the shrinking particle. Only several variables had been swapped or altered slightly. He must have written it that very morning. How desperate was he to have his work completed? He was already open to human tests after mere weeks. Yes, he had been researching for a decade. But tests had only lasted weeks. He was rushing things, and it was only making Janet’s stomach sink in worry.
“At least test it on more animals.” Janet tried to smile encouragingly, “Rabbits? Something bigger-while we make the breathing equipment?”
Hank eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but it was enough to placate him for now. He was at the cusp of a major discovering. One that he had been working on for a decade. Jan was simply being Jan: protective. He smiled softly and squeezed her hand.
“I’ll order some and run the formula through the computers, so make sure everything’s okay. Better?”
“A little.” She admitted with an uncertain look.
“Hey,” He said softly as he held her shoulders, “We’ll be safe. How long has this been worked on?” He smiled eagerly, “We’ll focus on the animals. Once we’re able to shrink and regrow different kinds safely, we’ll relook at humans.”
She nodded softly but still had reservations. She had never seen him like this before. So…driven to complete research. It was encouraging and, admittedly, arousing to see at first. Now, Janet was worried for her husband’s impulsive scientific manner. She did not need another Tony Stark in her life.
“I’ll get some research rabbits for you this afternoon.” Darren grinned with a crooked smile, “Maybe a few sheep, too.”
“A dozen of each, if possible?” Hank requested, “Take it from the company card. Once we show the shareho-”
“Hank.” Janet hissed urgently.
Hank spun around in alarm. A small device on the steel table was flashing blue. It was a long, wiry machine that had been designed to be attached to space helmets. A machine that had significant range as a result. The miniscule radio flashed once more, and Hank turned to Darren. He spoke with a hushed whisper.
“Get me the animals now. And,” He tossed a look at Janet as she walked over the radio, “get me one the suits that we designed for crash minimisation.”
Darren nodded and clapped his friend on the shoulder. Within a minute, he was outside and running towards his car.
Janet looked at her husband’s guilty smile with suspicion. He was not good at keeping secrets. Janet knew that he was about to propose for a fortnight before he did so, given his mumbling when he thought he was alone. She chose not to say anything, given the new set of priorities before them. Hank cleared his throat, nodded to Janet, and watched as she picked up the device. She could hear what sounded like either rain or a shower. Even more faintly, she could hear words.
Janet’s mood did not improve throughout that week. In fact, as she watched her husband returning to their home lab, she was livid. She asked Hank not to rush tests, so he tested dozens of animals that very week. She asked him not to continue rushing the human version of the formula, so he spent three days making half-cobbled ideas in his notebooks. She demanded that Hank not drive to a darkened corner as evening drifted over, so he drove off two hours later. Had she not been a calm woman, Hank Pym would be dead upon arrival. He almost looked dead, anyway. His eyes were red with swollen veins. His use of safety equipment was often null as he rushed into his work each day, forgetting the most basic of preparations. It was causing Janet significant distress. He was agitated and restless. His eyes struggled to focus as they loomed over chemicals and test tubes. Even his scent had started to change, something which he laughed off.
Hank backed their back into the garage. Janet followed the car in, watching around their fence with great fear. It was quiet, like usual. She feared it would not be quite for long. She turned, seeing Hank opening the boot of the car. A tall, blonde man with beyond sizable muscles crawled out. Steve smiled apologetically at Janet as he dusted himself off. Janet did not know how to feel as she looked upon one of her childhood heroes.
“For the record,” He said gently, “thanks.”
“Don’t thank us yet.” She tossed her husband a foul look, “We have nothing to offer yet. We were meant to call you when we had something worth calling about.” She sighed and scratched her hair, “None of the formulas work, Cap. We can’t really help you much. We shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
Hank scoffed. He immediately went silent as a threatening finger was jabbed into his chest.
“Don’t you start.” Janet warned, “We’re having a talk later.” She turned back to Steve, “Despite what my idiot husband has probably said, we haven’t even started working on humans. Nor should we for months.” She quickly added.
“Yes, but,” Hank started in a light voice, “It works on all animals.”
“Six.” She corrected.
Rabbits, mice, geese, sheep, fish, and chickens were not all that were in the animal kingdom. They hadn’t even tested on any apes. Not that Hank didn’t try, of course. Unfortunately for him, neither he nor Darren knew where to find chimps within a single day’s notice. It was practically the only calming feature of Janet’s week.
Steve turned to Hank with an uncomfortable look. While he wasn’t a man of science, he had been around enough to know some basic principles. Hank had not been fully open about his work. In fact, based on the radio conversations throughout the week, Steve had honestly thought that they were nearly finished. They had already mentioned a breakthrough at the bar, yet Hank had clearly been vague on what the breakthrough had actually been. It caused Steve look at the shorter man with a concerned gaze.
“You don’t think you’re rushing this?”
Hank groaned loudly and shook his head. A moment later, and he was storming through their lab.
Steve offered his wife a sheepish and apologetic smile. He had not anticipated such marital issues after seeing how they had been several days ago. Admittedly, he was probably naïve to think that they were not under some stress, given that he was no doubt being searched for as they stood in the garage. The plan had been quickly thought up over the course of several shower sessions. All it took was a thunderstorm with heavy rain. Much to Steve’s gratitude, it only took a week before the next storm hit. As the thunder echoed through the building, Steve climbed through the bathroom window. The descent was awkward as it had to be quiet. Even in the darkness, S.H.I.E.L.D. could track him. So, with an inhuman leap, he latched onto the apartment building adjacent to his. Soft feet carried him through the window of a stranger’s house, one that he thankfully did not encounter as he left the home immediately. He did, however, burrow some clothes. Hooded and with thick glasses, the man hastily moved to the ground level and waited for a group large enough to exit. After almost seven minutes, an elderly group muttered as they collected their umbrellas. Steve hunched his back to appear to their height, and snuck behind them. He followed their group through the hissing wind and freezing rain for several moments, and then simply joined group after group. Within the hour, he had reached an isolated part of the city. One where a well described car was waiting.
“I love my husband,” Janet said absently, “He’s just very…eager about this. He spent all week testing on animals. If he hurts himself or hurts another, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s a softie.”
She felt a strong, but gentle, hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see a comforting smile looking down at her.
“He’s very passionate. I’ve known a lot of scientists. You’re all like that.” She chuckled softly, “We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Like bringing home a wanted man?” Janet snorted, making Steve smile sadly.
“
“I’m sorry. If I’d known that the formula wasn’t complete, I’d ha-”
“Hey.” Janet shrugged, “I offered to help you, right? We’re all in this, now. Hank’s impulsive. I’m overeager. It’s our thing.” She sighed and eventually began to walk towards the door, “Nice to know we have the government on our backs now. All for wanting to stop some screwed up attacks.”
“I have some news about that.” Steve said with a grim tone, stroking Janet’s curiosity.
Steve, whilst still being vague on details relating to Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D., gave the Pyms a brief retelling of their conversation. Janet frowned, almost regretting her decision to offer aid. She didn’t need to know who S.H.I.E.L.D. were to know that they were clearly not an organisation to mock or take lightly. They could be swarming their house as they spoke. Their offices and labs could be being raided. She sighed into her tea.
Even Hank had lost his zeal as Steve continued the story of his escape. While he had known that smuggling the nation’s first superhero would be risky, he had been foolish and drunk when ignoring the full risks. Perhaps, it was not the best idea to have agreed to house Captain America so soon, especially without the perfect Pym Particles to help them.
“Please tell me you have that map, at least.” Hank turned to Janet before noticing Steve’s confusion, “She’s been working on tracking the attacks. Jan’s also been running them through the computer.”
“Well,” Janet blushed slightly, “I did want to offer something helpful to you, Cap. At least I can.” She grumbled, making Hank roll his eyes.
The scientist lazily reached into his pocket and pulled two red vials from it. One was a blood red whilst the other was a deep scarlet colour. Janet’s eyes narrowed while Steve tilted his head in innocent curiosity.
“One makes you go small, and the other undoes the first.” He smiled, “Managed to get the second one to work with a beautiful lady’s help.” He smiled at Jan.
She was not impressed.
“For the record, I suggest months more testing. We don’t even have a way of administering it on anything large. We haven’t built a tank that pushes the vapour into…”
Hank had silently walked off, leaving Janet annoyed and offended. He never did that. Even when she was yelling at him, he never walked away. It didn’t take her long to understand the sudden confidence in her husband. He returned with a strange leather suit and a metal helmet that was shaped like a dome. The vaguely recognised the black and blue suit. It was broken up into hundreds of small pads and was very thick and squishy to touch. Had Hank worked on it before?
The helmet was a complete mystery, however. It was large and spherical. The steel was shiny and reflected all light off of it. Goggles were welded onto the front, as was a strange breathing muzzle that looked like something from scuba gear. It was all joined together, and the helmet looked as if it encased the entire head in an airtight vice. Steve looked claustrophobic just looking at it.
“You remember the anti-crash projects that we tried to get into?”
It suddenly dawned on Janet where she recognised the suit. She sighed loudly and turned to Steve. He was looking more and more confused the longer that he stayed with the Pyms.
“We…Our company struggled for the first few years.” She explained meekly, “So, we thought…safety equipment would be a good investment.”
“The idea is that pressurised air is pumped into the entire suit, adding thickened protection.” Hank gestured to the many pads, “Darren and I played around with it this week.” He said, much to Janet’s annoyance, “Instead of pressurized air, a gas is cycled through the suit and around the occupant.” He tapped what looked like a button on the suit’s belt, “The mask is…not great, but it will filter the air molecules for Cap.”
Steve suddenly looked startled and crossed his arms.
“Me?”
“You.” Hank nodded, “We…I…Aren’t we making this for you? You’re the superhero. We can’t go in the field. Janet has her martial arts, so she could? But I’m…I’m Hank.”
Janet smiled sadly as she finally saw the insecure man that she had married. The idiot should have just told her that was on his mind. It wasn’t just his ego, it was his need to aid a national hero. The desire to help a man that he had grown up hearing stories of. To build a suit that gave the Captain America the ability to alter his mass and size. Janet sighed and began to gently stroke his arm as Steve looked shocked.
“I’m…not the right man for this.”
“You’re Captain America.” Janet said, her husband nodding eagerly.
“I’m not a scientist. I have no hecking idea how any of this works. I…Uh…”
“Cap, none of us can help like you can.” Hank said flatly.
“That’s not true.” Steve said bitterly, “We weren’t made to help by ourselves. Call me old fashioned, but I still think we’re stronger as one. You guys are geniuses. If anyone knew how to work this stuff, it’s you. Does it need to be a suit? Surely, there’s more applications to this…”
As Steve spoke on, Hank’s eyes drifted to the suit and his hand. He was still holding both serums. Steve was right. Janet and himself were the only ones to really know what the Pym Particles could do. They were the only ones to know its potential and how it could be applied to helping others. He may be unfit and shy. He may not have Janet’s love for fitness and self-defence. He had his mind. A mind that solved the Pym Particle mystery over the course of a decade. He slid back two steps. His full hand drifted to the belt of the suit.
“Nice sentiment.” Janet smiled weakly, “But Hank and I aren’t superheroes. Hank, you…Hank!”
Her husband was far quieter than she had ever given him credit. As her eyes turned to him, his feet were already in the suit. Hank looked up as if his hand was in a cookie jar. Steve immediately stepped forward with the intent to pull him out. With an awkward hop, Hank returned the distance.
“If you want a fucking divorce…” Janet warned venomously as Hank began sliding up the suit’s top, “Please, sweetheart. Look, I know how much this means to you. I know this has been years. God, I was there when it started.”
“I know.” Hank mumbled as he peered into the helmet within his hands, “Jan, it’s…I can’t harm other people. If this works…”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Janet was almost hyperventilating now. Her eyes were damp and her quivering lips struggled to form any usable words. Steve grabbed Hank before he could finish adjusting the helmet. The scientist tried to shove him away, but the grip was too tight. He turned to his panicking wife and smiled behind the helmet.
“Hey.” His voice was tinny, “I love you and I’ll be safe. Just a quick trip. I…I need to know if this works. I need to, baby.” He said desperately.
Before Janet could call out, he smiled once again.
“I love you.”
Steve’s arm shot towards the belt. His hands touch thin air. Janet screamed and took a step back, her eyes manically scanning the ground. Steve looked before him. Hank was gone. The entire man was gone. Steve’s mouth went dry and he scanned the ground as well. Nothing. There was nothing. Suddenly, a hissing sound buzzed through the air. Something blue and black entered Steve’s vision so abruptly that he almost fell to his rear. Janet cupped her mouth as Hank staggered back. Both Steve and Janet could hear faint laughter from behind the helmet. Janet received a thumbs up a moment later.
The laughter got louder as Hank pulled the helmet from his head. He was crying. The man’s laughter became broken with sobs as his entire body shook.
“It works.” He whispered and his voice suddenly grew thunderous, “It works! A fucking decade and it works!” He screamed as he looked at the ceiling, “It fucking works, baby!”
He soon fell to his knees, sobbing in happiness. Janet was at his side, forcing him to look at her. She held his eyes open and asked many questions about his senses. He laughed at her, hugging her tightly and showering her with wet kisses.
“We did it.” He cried in her shoulder as she sat in his lap, “We made the Pym Particle. It works, baby.”
Janet suddenly shoved him back. Her face was muddled with its own tears, but they were not of happiness. She was on her feet, her hand on his collar.
“You ever do that to me again, and we’re done.”
Hank sobered himself up and cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry. But Jan, sweetie, it works.”
Janet eyed him coldly before walking away. Steve didn’t know what to make of the scene. While he was still in awe of the fact that Hank could alter his size to such an extent, he was less impressed with how it left Janet. She looked horrified, sick and terrified as she slammed a door behind her. How much was Hank not running by her? They seemed so in league during their trip to the bar. Hank sighed, his head touching his chest as his victory now tasted sour.
Eventually, Janet returned with several swaps and syringes. Hank eyed them with disapproval, but was not game enough to say anything to Janet. Her eyes were still wet and her lips still twitching in fury.
“Take that off, now. If there’s any side effects, I’m killing you.”
***
“We need to be quick. It won’t take them long to figure out that I’m after the shield.” Steve explained.
The three of them gathered around an image of an old heritage building. From its appearance, it was once an old library that was now used for school tours and trips for the elderly. It was hardly the place that Janet would think housed government equipment. Then again, she supposed that would be make it a fantastic place. Her eyes drifted to Hank. Ever since his rushed tests, she had said little to him. It was a rushed and stupid test that could have killed her husband. He could have waited. He knew that he could have done hundreds of more tests, like a normal project. Yet, the bastard didn’t. For the first time in their marriage, Janet slept on the couch that night.
“No blueprints. No plans. Nothing.” Hank sighed.
“I was taken there a few times after they woke me up.” Steve assured them, “The door to the elevator is by the toilets with an ‘out of use’ sign. The entrance to the stairs is by the camera room.”
“Stairs would be easier.” Janet said softly.
“Longer, tho-”
“Cool story, Hank.” Janet said dismissively, making Hank give her a hurt expression, “He goes by the stairs. Then what?”
“The shield is in a crate marked ‘S. G. R.’. It’s by a massive crate with horns poking through the top. You can’t miss it. There are three security doors, each with about four guards. Heavily armed, too. I’ll be waiting outside to make sure you’re okay if anything happens.”
“The things I do for patriotism.” Hank mumbled, “How do we get the shield out? We still can’t get non-living matter to shrink.”
“You’ll need something to get every guard distracted, so that Hank can pick up the shield and not be seen in human size.” Janet mumbled, “Is there any major target that this organisation wants more than-”
“H.Y.D.R.A.” Steve cut in with a stony expression, “A terrorist organisation.”
“We read about them in school.” Janet nodded, “Please tell me they’re not back, too?”
He gave them a blank look. One that made them both sigh deeply.
“Great. No one stays dead.” Hank muttered.
“You’re good with the computer things, right?” They both nodded, “This may be very dumb, so please say so if it is. Could you break into their computers and make it look like H.Y.D.R.A. is attacking them? Give them a fake warning or something like that?”
The pair exchanged looks for a moment. They turned back to Steve.
“Captain America.” Janet swallowed, “That’s a very dumb idea.”
***
“This is a dumb idea.” Janet whispered in the back of the van, “You’re an idiot, Jan. See one superhero, and you offer to help. Absolute idiot.”
“He’ll be fine.” Steve said from the driver’s side, his eyes staring at the front of the library.
He was covered in a scarf, hat and sunglasses. They were parked two streets away from the library, yet that didn’t help Janet’s stress. Hank’s blood tests and brain scans hadn’t come back yet, and they didn’t know how long the particles worked on humans. Her poor, dumb, arrogant, soft husband had walked into a fast-food restaurant across from the library with a large bag in hand. After changing and hiding his clothes in the bin, the man had shrunk and sprinted towards the library. He was alone and possibly poisoning himself. He could be caught or killed. Janet would never know. They should have done more tests. He was so stubborn. The stubborn man that she loved more than anyone in the world was alone as he ventured into the storage facility. She should be there with him, helping him at least. She sighed and turned back to the wires and parts that were connected to her loud and overheating computer. One that was running thousands of lines of code into a system that she prayed was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s and not some accounting firm. If it was an accounting firm, they were about to become very confused in a few minutes.
The miniaturised world was alien. The sounds of footsteps vibrated Hank’s body as he ran on pavement. His unfit body was already panting as he fought against the gentle wind. Sounds hurt at this size. He would need to modify the helmet significantly. It also cut into his neck a fair bit. His body felt odd, but he knew no pain. His muscles were humming with a strange numbness. They would flex without cause every few seconds, but caused Hank no alarm. He was grinning. Gigantic people stepped to his side, looking like gods to the man. Their voices sounded so distant, yet held so much weight. It was like thunder from a faraway land.
His skin was saturated with sweat as he finally reached the library. He needed to diet and join Janet’s fitness classes. A pang of guilt hit him. If she didn’t divorce him. He had betrayed her trust and abused her fear of his life. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t recognise why she was upset. He knew that he had broken dozens of protocols. He knew how much he had rushed things. Tests on such so significant shouldn’t take mere weeks. But, his gamble had paid off, for as he ran behind several doors, no one noticed his tiny form.
Steve was correct. Not that Hank doubted him, but he felt relieved as he slid under the camera room’s door. There was a second door to the right, guarded by a bulking man with a gun to his side. Not many libraries had armed guards. Hank grinned and ran beside the man’s shoe. Two more guards were standing in front of marble staircase. These guards had semi-automatics. Hank’s jaw dropped. What the hell did they keep in this place? He eyed the hundreds of gigantic stairs and sighed. He needed to hurry. There was a timer for when Janet would type in the last line of code. He jumped down the first step only to immediately roll his ankle and drop to his side. Unfortunately, the momentum worked against him. As he slid onto his back, he continued rolling until his very body fell over the side of the steps.
Hank gave a terrified scream that no one could hear as he plummeted down what seemed like an endless tunnel of stairs. His eyes clenched shut as he prayed for Janet. His death never came. Eventually, he felt his back bounce of a cracking material. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was at the bottom of the staircase. He was alive. A large grin overcame the man as he thought of the implications. The change to atomic mass made him denser. A fact that was further illustrated back the tiny dent that his body had made in the marble. It looked as if a bullet had been fired into the ground. The impact that his body could make was indeed very concentrated. He would need to explain this to Janet. Perhaps it would ease her fears.
Steve was right about the security. There were three doors. In each mini section, two guards stood by the doors. To the left, there was an observation room where a man or woman sat behind a desk. All were flanked by even more guards. With nervous breathings and dozens of prayers to God, Hank snuck under them.
The storeroom of S.H.I.E.L.D. was madness. Countless crates were filled with Nazi materials, portraits and gold. Others had medieval weapons that glowed. There was a strange cube that glowed blue that shone a brilliant red and blue within a glass case. Hank could spend days in this rooms. Yet, as a guard swept the area, he was reminded why he was here. It didn’t take long for Hank to find the largest crate in the room. While he could only see the horns sticking out of the topic, Hank imagined that S.H.I.E.L.D. had a mammoth in storage. The childish thought eased the pain of tired muscles as he appeared before the crate next to the big one. ‘S.G.R.’. He sighed as he looked upon the crate that towered above him. It was Janet’s turn.
The woman was murmuring her own prayers to God for her husband’s safe travel. She had offered to help Cap. This was her fault. She no doubt pushed Hank’s ego into doing this, without either of them realising. As she practically bit her nails, a small kitchen timer rang. Her blood turned cold.
“You okay?” Steve asked softly.
It took her a moment to be able to form a reply.
“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
She turned back to her computer and pressed her fingers into the thick keys. A moment later, she pressed a cartridge into the computer. A further moment later, she typed one last line of code. Janet exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. She activated it.
The green screen flashed with dozens of alerts and warning. The computer’s fans struggled to handle the processor going into overdrive as numerous system alerts came into being. Janet’s head was in her hands.
“I just broke into a government system for Captain America. What the fuck am I doing with my life?” She turned to glare at Steve, “You better solve these murders. I am not going to jail for no reason.”
Steve gave her a weakened look and shifted so that he was next to her.
“We won’t get caught. We have the smartest people I have ever met on this. If you can handle shrinking people, I know you can do this.”
Janet suddenly became very still as a thought hit her. Her mouth slowly opened, and she turned to look at Steve with wide, concerned eyes.
“You…You know that physics and software development are very different skillsets, right? Like…There’s nothing really intermixed in those two branches. The only reason I know how to do this is because of Tony Stark’s book on hacking.”
Winston was a very confused man. While often on top of his work, this was not one of those occasions. His head leaned forward, looking at his computer screen in utter confusion at dozens of messages and alerts blurted at him. It was for moments like these that he hated the invention of computers. Nothing about what he was seeing made any sense. The skinny, older man frowned and hastily pressed several keys.
“An issue, sir?” An armed guard at his left asked.
“Please report to stations…H.Y.D.R.A. assault on storage…Rear entrance a…Rear entrance? What rear entrance? Is this a prank?”
He turned to the two guards behind him and they both shrugged. Winston sighed, took off his circular glasses, and rubbed his aching eyes.
“One of you get Dani or Phil. Ask if they’ve…”
Before he could finish, the two doors either side of his section of the hallway opened. A tall woman with a stern look upon her elderly face marched forwards whilst a rather blubbery man practically crashed through his doors.
“Are we under attack?” Phil asked with a reddening face.
Winston pressed the microphone button at his desk.
“I don’t fucking know.” He called from behind bullet proof glass, “What rear entrance? We don’t have one. We’re in a fucking basement.”
“Cyber-attack.” Dani grunted as she prepared to return to her section, “No one call out, and shut down all computers and systems. I’ll send an agent to physically go to headquarters and see what’s going on.”
“Well, do…Do we…Should we reposition the guards?” Phil asked, “What if this is an attack?”
Winston sighed and turned to the guards behind him.
“Hide your guns. I want you in the library with Phil’s men. Did you hear that Phil? Yes, four should be enough. Yes. Thank you, Phil.” He took his finger off the microphone button, “How the fuck did you ever get promoted, Phil?” He pressed the button again, “Have the storage guards go to all entrance the room. Someone get me a secure phone. I want to know what fucking attack is meant to happening. Awfully quiet for a gunfight.” He scoffed as he continued reading the dozens of alerts.
Hank watched as the men sprinted towards the doors. He grinned. Janet was a genius. Always was, always would be. As he turned to the crate, an idea inspired by his fall came to him. This was a perfect time to test and observe the properties Pym Particles, after all. He took a very large run up to the crate. As he neared the crate, he leapt into the arm and threw an awkward and unsteady punch at the wood. The wood shattered as the force of a bullet collided with its base. While the noise was barely audible for a normal ear, it was almost deafening to Hank. He gritted his teeth and winced as he crawled through the new hole that he had made himself. The inside of the crate was dark, yet he could feel metal with ease. He was touching it. Captain America’s shield. The shield that he had pretended to play with on many afternoons as a child. He crawled behind it, braced himself and pressed his belt.
His head throbbed as an overwhelming sensation overcame him. Light broke into the darkness as his growing body broke through the crate. His body wasn’t hurt. His suit wasn’t punctured. He was alive. Better yet, in his hands was a circular shield of red, blue and silver. Hank almost giggled. The shield that inspired a nation in the darkest of times. It was a heavy thing, one that took both arms and a lot of effort to lift. Waddling as if he were a penguin, Hank walked towards the door. A door that led to a corridor filled with six guards. His heart stopped. They were still there. Janet’s coding didn’t work. He turned to look at the woman behind the glass screen as she mouthed ‘Who the hell is…’.
Hank turned to the nearest guard and immediately shrunk. The men jumped as they aimed their weapons in many directions. The man at the front pressed into his radio.
“Teleporter. I repeat, teleporter.”
Two more guards slowly approached the shield. After a moment of waiting, the woman behind the glass nodded to them. They both kneeled to collect it. A pair of pained shouts filled the room as the shield was slammed into their jaws, knocking them several feet away. Hank ducked and hid behind the shield as dozens of rounds were unleashed at him.
“The feet!” He heard.
Before anyone could make the shot, the shield dropped the ground with a clang. Hank’s body fizzed with adrenaline and energy. For the first time in his life, he was practically shaking with enthuasism. No thought ever touched his mind about not being trained. He never cared for the bullets that looked like warships leaving an exploding port. The fear of death never went near him. He was smiling. He could do this. The particles could do this.
The nearest soldier almost fired directly at the shield, but an incredible pain struck his ankle. With a wail of agony, he fell to his rear as bones crack under an invisible force. Something tiny, barely visible, was leaping on his jacket. Before he could shake it off, it jumped and bounced on his chest. The force of a horrific punch sent his upper body falling on the ground with a weak gasp. The remaining guards looked at each other and held a silent conversation. One of them sprinted towards the stairs, desperate to get the security now placed within the library above. He was lucky. He missed the sight of something tiny lifting Captain America’s shield and throwing it towards the shield.
Hank stared at the writhing and moaning bodies before him. He was smiling wider than he had in a long while. He was untrained, without a shred of fitness about him, yet he had bested operatives of secret government storage facility. He was struggling to stand still as his heart raced. He could see why Steve accepted his super soldier serum. This was incredible. His fingers idly stroked where his serum was stored within the belt. This was only the first practical session of the Pym Particle. He licked his lips as he thought of what other uses that he could find for it. The cocky man tapped his belt and felt his head throb once more. He practically whistled as he made his way over the men’s body, several of them conscious enough to glare at the strange man in a weird costume.
His smugness faded as a dozen men charged through the door in front of him. He was tiny within a second, yet they all fired rounds near the ground. Hank hid underneath the shield, yet could still hear their voices.
“Gas ‘em.”
Hank confident was now gone entirely. All of the new soldiers had been wearing gasmasks. Whilst the helmet filtered air, that was primarily so that his new body could process oxygen. It was not a filter of other substances. With a desperate sigh, he shoved the nearest part of the shield forwards. The force knocked the shield into several ankles, causing men to scream and collapse. The shield clattered on the ground as the remaining men, as well as those without broken ankle, continued to fire. Hank felt as if he was under mortar fire. The ground shook and hissed as it broke around him. He screamed in panic as he aimlessly ran to avoid the gigantic bullets raining upon him. Then, he heard a confused shout.
A tall man in a hood had violently shoved a man into a wall before brutally landing a calculated blow to his temple, rendering him dazed and weak. The man ducked with grace as his toes found the nearby shield. He kicked it into his hand as it were a reflex. The men did fire, for the motion had knocked the man’s glasses off. The face of a man studied by every new S.H.I.E.L.D. operate smiled sheepishly at them.
“You’re…You’re…” One of them tried as the blonde man sighed deeply.
“Men, I don’t want to fight any of you. I need my shield. Please,” His eyes creased in a begging expression, “Let’s just leave it here.”
“Cap…Um, sir…Person.” The man did not even know how to address the formerly dead military icon, “That’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s property.”
“People are being murdered in our country. I’m not going to sit by and do nothing. I’m sorry, men. Please understand. It’s my duty.”
The guards exchanged confused, reluctant and even pained looks. The man with the highest rank closed his eyes in shame before shaking his head. His gun was raised a moment later.
“It’s our job. If you really are Captain America, you should understand that.”
Steve nodded in understanding. He then gave them a short smile. The nearest gun was suddenly thrown to the side as the shield cut into it. Steve immediately covered himself and kneeled to protect his entire body. Crawling forwards, he slammed the shield into the chest of the nearest man, knocking him back. As he did so, several guards turned and resumed firing on Hank. The tiny man had sprinted to their sides, saving him from their fire. With a shout, he sprinted up a cracked floor tile and leapt at a man’s sheen. A fist collided with bone, shattering a small part of it. Despite the wound being so small, the man howled in agony as he felt the break. His two friends quickly understood and turned their guns. A shield whacked into one of them just as something tiny bounced into the other man’s chest. Both were writhing on the floor within seconds.
“Got four.” Hank smiled as he reverted to his normal size.
“Well done.” Steve said with an impressed smile.
Hank’s smile faded as he saw the remaining dozen men on the floor that Steve had clearly knocked out with relative ease. He huffed as the super soldier turned to the panicked woman behind the screen.
“Tell Fury I’ll return it soon.” He paused and then gestured to the guards, “And don’t be too hard on them. They did great.”
Hank followed Steve towards the staircase. They had minutes, if that, before S.T.R.I.K.E. would be appearing. The pair hastily jogged through the now empty library in a silent fashion. When they neared the rear entrance, Hank watched in awe as Steve slammed his shield into the heads of the armed guards outside the door. Steve shook his head in remorse. This was not how he had hoped to use his shield for the first time in decades. Yet, as he flexed his arm within the shield’s straps, he could not help but smile to himself.
No one was killed or seriously hurt. Fury couldn’t blame him for that at least. The alleyway was silent, but Steve knew that it was being watched and guarded by patrols of more operatives. They needed to move and quickly before they were pinned into a corner or dead end. He led Hank down a passageway to the right before stopping over the first manhole they saw. Hank groaned.
“The sewers”
Janet jumped in her seat as she felt the van’s doors open. Her head snapped around to see Hank and Steve hastily hopping in. Janet’s arms were quickly around her husband, only for her to wrinkle her nose and lean back.
“Don’t ask.” Hank said as he glared at Steve.
“You got it!” Janet squealing, seeing the circular shield being put to their side, “Any side effects? Are you okay?”
“I’m…I feel fucking amazing.” Hank smiled widely, “It…I can’t describe it. Jan, the particles are incredible.”
“For someone with no actual training, he did pretty well.” Steve smiled, making Hank blush.
“Let’s hope it pays off. Honey, you got the map?”
Janet pulled out a recently printed sheet of paper that highlight numerous dots on the city. One region in particular was shaded in yellow, clearly by Janet.
“The computers didn’t really help.” She admitted, “But, I think I have something for you, Cap. Here.” She pointed to the shaded region that was the waterfront, “See, most of the attacks are in parks or alleyways. They form a consistent region of the city that’s wide, but not here. It’s not the centre, granted. But it is the only place where there hasn’t been an attack. All around it has, though. Why not there?”
Steve took the map and narrowed his eyes. It was a flimsy piece of evidence, if it even was that. The shaded area was practically an entire waterfront, as well. It’d take a lot of time to scope it out. Still, it was more than he had. He smiled as he folded the paper and hid it within his jacket.
“You’re both incredible. What’s next? We keep our heads down for a bit?”
“At least for tonight.” Janet suggested and Hank nodded.
“Annoying.” Hank chuckled, “I was just getting started. Jan, it was incredible.”
As Hank recounted breaking into the storage facility, he noticed his wife retrieving even more syringes. He stopped his story to sigh bitterly.
“It is really needed?” He moaned.
“This is the longest that you’ve been exposed. It’ll be good to see what the side-effects are. I’m not dealing with a shrunken husband on m-”
“Oh, shut up.” Hank spat loudly as he crossed his arms, tired of Janet’s attempt at ruining his victory.
The van became awfully quiet. Janet’s eyes were wide in both confusion and hurt. Steve looked appalled and even held Hank’s shoulder tightly, as if resisting the urge to do something more. He had heard men speak to women like that during the forties. It never ended well for either party. Hank’s irritation turned to remorse and guilt. He reached out to her, but she threw the medical kit to Steve.
“Take his blood. Two vials. I’m driving.”
“Jan, ple-”
She was already out of the van and ripping the door of the driver’s component open. As the van started to move, Hank’s head was in his hands as Steve eyed him with concern and discomfort. Hank’s mind was scattered into a million places. He felt alive. Yet, he was upset and angry as well. He was not like this. He was timid and shy throughout his entire life. Part of him wanted to admit the unusual trends within his emotions, but Janet would blame the Pym Particles. No. He sighed and rubbed his jaw. It was better to be quiet. They were the cusp of breaking scientific bounds. Paranoid fears about emotions wouldn’t help anyone. He was tired, that’s all. Just tired.
***
Peter grimaced awkwardly as he stood in silence upon the cool rooftop. It would be beautiful, given the thousands of lights encasing them as the evening rolled on. There was only a small thunderstorm near the city and that was far away, by the looks of the clouds. Yet, the sight of a tall, green woman glaring at several of those buildings were not helping make it a pleasant evening. The vigilante had found about exercise leotard to replace her old one. A deep purple that covered her entire body with a tightness that the teenager couldn’t resist scanning with his entranced eyes. She was, without any doubt, one of the most beautiful women that he had come across. Her eyes were so dark and intense. Her jawline was cut so sharply, and her hair framed it so well. It also helped that certain other features were not exactly small on the jade giant.
Still, the lanky teen found himself being given the silent treatment, even after several weeks. Sadly, it wasn’t even the worst embarrassment that he’d ever had with girls, especially with the ones at his school. Even in his raggy outfit, he could make out her agitated features rather well. Eventually, he sighed and took several steps forward.
“Look, I should’ve run it by you first. It kinda looks bad, but-”
“Tony Stark.” The woman shook her head in disbelief, still not looking at Peter, “What could possibly go wrong?”
“He’s a genius.” Peter said in an amazed tone as he stepped forward, “He could…do tech stuff.”
For the first time in twenty minutes, the woman turned to look at him directly. An eyebrow was raised.
“Tech stuff?”
“Well, you barely know computers and he builds them. It rounds the team.”
“What team?” She scoffed, “Spider-Man, there’s no team or anything. We agreed to work on the murders. We lasted one week before someone invited one of the world’s most recognised men up here.”
“He found out about the security system.”
“And whose fault’s that?”
Peter rubbed his cheek and leaned against the break doorway to his side. In hindsight, caving in to Tony Stark almost immediately and giving him more information than arguably needed on a first meeting perhaps wasn’t a great idea. The woman across from him had certainly told him so on many occasions. In fact, whenever they would investigate murder sites, she would make a point of criticising the decision. Yet, Peter wasn’t entirely regretful, however. It was Tony Stark. The man that had invented the Arc Reactor, and the main reason why Peter aspired to study the sciences. Well, that and a rather odd yet fascinating scientist by the name of Otto Octavius. If anyone could help them tracking down the vampires, it would be Mr. Stark. Peter just knew it.
“I’m sorry.” Peter tried, “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”
“He’s an alcoholic recluse with a concerning amount of drink driving offenses to his file. I’d trust my pug to drive more than him. What annoys me is that-”
“You have a pug?” Peter asked with genuine interest.
The woman exhaled slowly and looked very irritated at herself. She muttered something under her breath and simply shut the conversation down all together. Her annoyance only increased. As she turned, she became aware that Peter was now at her side. Behind the seeing holes cut into his mask, she could see eager eyes looking at her.
“I’m more a Frenchie fan, myself.” Peter said as he touched his chest.
The woman looked offended by the comment and turned her head away stubbornly. Several moments passed before Peter could hear something being said in a soft voice.
“I don’t like their attitudes. They’re entitled.”
“Um, no? Frenchies are so cute. With their little ears and scrunched faces, they’re just awesome.”
“Pugs were symbols of royal power in China.” The woman said smugly.
“Frenchies were originally bred for fighting.”
“That’s horrible.” She paused, “Wait, what? How? Why? Why the hell would you make them fight?”
“Um, why not? They’re pretty vicious when not fed. Not that I’d know. My au…My roommate won’t let me get one.”
The woman gave a lame shrug and resumed looking out to the coloured city around them. Peter, struggling to stand still without any stimulation, began to roll on the balls of his feet. When that wasn’t interesting enough, he blew out his cheeks and turned to the beautiful woman beside him.
“What’s its name?”
“Let’s keep things professional.” She turned to him with a careful look, “You’re a decent guy but…We need to be careful. This isn’t the safest hobby we have.”
Peter, trying his best not to feel too crestfallen, simply nodded in understanding.
“Gotcha. Like a normal job.” A minute passed in silence as they looked at the buildings, “It’s probably something lame, anyway.” He whispered.
“How dare you?” She hissed as she turned to him again, “Her name is majestic.”
“Ruby? Miss Flowers? Cherry blossom? Pugalicious?”
The woman groaned as she rolled her eyes. Out of a desire to end the stupid names, she cracked under a minute.
“Maxxie. Short for Maximillia.”
There was a pause. Then booming laughter erupted on the roof top. Peter held his hips as his loud laughter echoed around them. As he calmed himself, he was aware that the woman was mere inches away from him. Her eyes were narrow. It was not an unattractive look, making his cheeks ripen immediately.
“Mock her again, and we’ll see what your reflexes can really do.”
Peter held up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry. It’s just…Maximillia the Pug. It’s cute. Really cute. I really like it, actually.”
The woman rolled her eyes again and turned her head slightly. She didn’t need him to see her darkened cheeks that formed at the pleasant sound of his laughter. She turned to him again, a defensive remark on her lips. The door to the rooftop swung open. A man in a pleasant evening suit and shaded glasses swaggered forwards in a way that reminded Peter of a gibbon. It was his idol. The Tony Stark. He appeared slightly amused as he took into the strange appearances of the man in dirty red clothes and the towering woman with green skin and a purple leotard. The billionaire smiled lazily as he sauntered forwards.
“Thanks for finally agreeing to meet. It’s only been weeks, but anyway.”
He appeared slightly insulted as he approached. Yet, as he took in the woman beside Peter, his eyebrows shot up.
“Well, hello.” He grinned wickedly as he held a hand forward, “As far as mutants go, you certainly got the good powers. I’m Tony. It’s a pleasure, my dear.”
His eyes were blatantly scanning the woman’s rather buxom chest, leaving her equally offended and shy. She crossed her arms over her chest, much to Tony’s disappointment. He withdrew his hand and took in Peter’s appearance as Spider-Man. He snorted.
“So, you’re the one that Spider-Dude that Parker kid mentioned. Did you raid a charity shop for that hood? I mean, Christ. Given what you two are wearing, it looks like a porno set up here.”
“Parker kid?” The woman turned to Peter.
His mouth quivered and Peter took a step back. He cleared his throat, deepened his voice and spoke as slowly as he could. The altered voice only seemed to bore Tony and confuse the woman next to him.
“A kid that helps me with…information. On the streets. Keeps an eye to the ground. I have…sources.” He shrugged.
The woman eyed him suspiciously, but Tony spoke up.
“Didn’t catch your name, honey?”
The woman narrowed her eyes, having come across many men like this in college.
“I didn’t say it. Just call me…Green.”
“Green?” Tony took off his glasses, “Holy shit, you’re green. Huge and green. Not bad.” He nodded, “So, you’re my new vigilante friends.”
“To be determined.” The woman said as she gathered her courage, “Mr. Stark, I’m…I’m afraid that I’ll need to ask what you can offer us. You understand, well, that it’s risky having one of the world-”
“Sweetheart,” Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes, “Cut the shit. You want me to prove my worth? All good, new friends.”
The woman eyed him carefully as Tony pulled something from his pocket. He promptly sat on the gravel beneath them, without a care for his expensive clothes, and spread something out. A map. He winked at them both before patting the area around him. Peter was sitting next to him immediately while the woman took her time to kneel. With one last suspicious look at the leering man, she turned to the map. It was New York City, yet didn’t have many of the buildings. Rather, it had a serious of green lines cutting through dark squares that quickly represented streets. Green dots also surrounded the lines. The dots were the murders, no doubt.
“Ran this threw a few times.” Tony smirked with glassy eyes.
Peter looked at him, not knowing how to react to seeing his hero in the flesh. Mr. Stark had always been rather…blatant in his attitude and opinions. In fact, that was one of the reasons that Peter had found him so fascinating. Most scientists were introverts and shied away from attention. Tony Stark was loud and would host interviews during parties that he threw on a whim. He drank openly during conferences, and would mock those that bullied science with such wit that Peter would burst out laughing at the screen. Yet, here he was. He smelled odd. A thick musk spiced with something acidic. His eyes were struggling to focus and were very shiny and watery. His hair was long and messy, and his beard made him look like a prophet. The year away from the cameras had not been kind to Peter’s hero, it seemed. To make matters worse, the way he was looking at the woman across from them made Peter uncomfortable. He was smiling lazily, and was still winking when he thought Peter wasn’t looking. His eyes were also still scanning her breasts every few minutes.
“Nothing happens for no reason.” Tony explained as he swept his hand over the map, “I offer you…their base.”
He tapped a single point where all of the green lines met. It was also within a patch where no dots were. The woman’s mouth gaped.
“The waterways. They’re using the sewers. I knew it.”
“There was a correlation somewhere.” Tony added, “Just needed to remove enough pointless variables, like houses and parks, and bingo. There’s a pattern. They’re near the waterfront. I think.”
Peter hummed lightly as he observed the map. He turned to Tony.
“This includes the unlisted murders, mis…Tony?”
“Yep. It might be completely wrong,” Tony admitted before smirking, “but I’m pretty fantastic at math. Let’s investigate.”
“You?” The woman asked sceptically, and even Peter found himself unsure about the idea.
“Why not me?” Tony asked grumpily, “I got you the base. I think.”
“I’m strong, fast and heal.” The woman pointed to Peter, “He’s fast, strong, sticks to walls, and shoots webs.”
Tony turned to Peter with a look of mild discomfort.
“From my wrists.” He quickly explained, “It’s a chemical.”
“Right.” Tony said slowly, “Look, I can help. What if you need to break into a system quietly? Or, you come across something mechanical that you can’t control or deactivate? You need a tech guru. Besides,” He puffed out his chest, “I can handle myself.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled two strange gloves out. They were mostly Velcro, yet had many wires running around them. In the palm rested a thick disk of a strange material. Tony smiled as he held several more disks next to a glove.
“I call them my ‘Repulsors’. A very condensed charge of energy. One shot per disk. They’re a little rusty, but hey, worked like a charm against a brick wall at home.”
The woman turned and looked at Peter quizzically. Not knowing whether it was wise to bring an unpowered person to potential vampire lair, Peter froze and mumbled several things softly. The woman turned back to Tony.
“Look, you could die. If you’re right-”
“I usually am.” Tony murmured before clearing his throat, “Look, can you really afford to not have me there? Realistically? You don’t know what you’re up against. Again, you need a tech guru. I’m that tech guru.”
The woman sighed as Peter thought it over as well. It was risky either way. Peter was smart. He was not Tony Stark smart. He knew computers well, but that was only due to Tony’s books and show. The latter was infamous for Tony’s insistence that the lab assistants be topless during his demonstrations. The show only lasted a single episode before several parental and religious groups demanded the station remove the show.
The woman turned to Peter with a defeated and fed-up look. She bucked her chin at him.
“You’re carrying him.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!”
Peter did his best not to laugh as Tony screamed by his ear. The man was clutching his body tightly as the pair swung through the skyscrapers with ease. While Tony had no fear of heights, he wasn’t a major fan of swinging by a thin string as a lunatic performed flips ever four seconds. To make matters worse, he could feel the rum in his gut growling as he was spun over and over again. The jade giant was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, albeit without as much grace as Peter. She was also far slower, resulting in Peter and Tony arriving at the waterfront several minutes before she did. Tony was grateful. It allowed him to vomit by a bin in privacy. He didn’t need the sexy giant to see him in such a way. Not when he felt that he had a chance with her.
Eventually, the men were joined by their final companion as she landed on the ground with a thud. Tony smiled casually as he swayed his way forwards, much to her discomfort. He pointed to the large warehouse with many glass tiles upon the ceiling. The wood was rotting, and the green paint had turned a faded grey. Judging by the fact that it rested on the water, Peter guessed that it produced boats or something else that needed to water for its worth.
“That creepy ass building is in the centre of the zone. Start there.” Tony nodded.
“Who put you in charge?” The lady chuckled before shaking her head, “Fine. But if we tell you to run, run. I don’t need a repeat of that boat disaster.”
“I didn’t blow it up, okay?” Tony muttered as Peter grabbed his back, “It was…Fuck!”
The three of them landed on some old scaffolding. Tony pushed Peter away with a glare and muttered swear. Peter chuckled softly but froze once he saw the concern on the woman’s face. She was kneeling in front of one of the mouldy glass panels, peering into the warehouse below. Peter crawled next to her and their sides touched. Both blushed immediately and silently shifted several inches apart. That was until Tony slid his way between them and pulled out some small binoculars that looked like they cost a fortune, given the diamonds around the rims.
“Hmm. We got people.” He said as he scanned the walkways around the open water within, “They look like punks, not vam…What the fuck!” He hissed
The woman grabbed the binoculars from him and peered down. Her jaw dropped. By the water, there were two men holding a screaming woman down. At first, the woman suspected abused, but then she witnessed the trials of blood seeping across the pavement and dropping into the water. Teeth were gnashing into the poor woman’s neck as her flailing arms and legs did nothing to deter her attackers. Before the jade giant could suggest a rescue, one of the men grabbed his victim by the jaw. With a sickeningly fluid motion, he tore her head off. Her body began to shudder and spasm, and the men resumed their meal in the quiet.
Peter watched as his associate dropped onto her rear, her eyes wide in horror and her mouth trembling. Tony was pale and looked as if he was about to vomit again. He dropped back to his rear as well and turned to look at the others in disbelief.
“You weren’t lying. Fucking vampires. What the fuck?”
Peter’s breathing was heavy and rapid. His body felt so heavy that he couldn’t move it at all. He had handled more than his fair share of villains in his year as Spider-Man. Yet, as he became aware of the vampire nest that he was resting next to, he felt inadequate. A mouse would have better chance of fighting a tiger than he would fighting possibly hundreds of vampires. He shook his head. What had he been thinking when he started this? Yes, he wanted to help people, but he doubted that he could with this. His eyes scanned the terror-stricken woman next to him and felt shame. His attempts at impressing the older woman were just stupid. A stupid mistake that would now get them killed and eaten.
Tony slowly crawled towards the glass once more when a loud crack shook the scaffolding. A force of wind threw the three of them onto their backs as the glass shattered. The skies tore open with an overwhelming clap of thunder. Tony winced and looked at the others as they rolled and grimaced. All of them were covered in tiny shards of glass. To Peter’s annoyance, his costume was torn in many places, as was the woman’s. To everyone’s concern, they were bleeding. Dozens of small cuts decorated their skin in a vampire lair.
“You guys okay?” He heard mumbles of affirmation, “What the hell was that?”
The ceiling was punctured and the windows ruined. The sky above them was thick with lightning traced clouds. Tony peered through the open panels, seeing a hulking man standing in the centre of the building.
Thor took little notice or concern of the foul creatures as they pool around him. Many bare their monstrous fangs defensively, while the cowardly ones all scampered away. Running would not save them from Mjolnir’s justice. His mighty boots boomed in the strange building as he took several steps forward. Varnae was not among them, though he could smell the blackened magic around them. The vampire child had not been misleading to the god. This was indeed where Varnae and his ilk festered. A poor household for a being not worthy a house. Thor snorted as he pulled back the hood to his blue hood.
“I am Thor, crown prince of the Aesir. I come from the halls of gold and silver. Only Varnae shall treat with me!” He bellowed to the ever-growing number of miniscule minions, “Challenge me, and I shall shatter you before Mjolnir.”
The vampires were held numbers in the thirties, at least. More came with every moment. The lord of thunder had handled worse in war. He was younger, however. His passion for blood was strong and fierce during the conquests of Vanaheim and Jotunheim. There was an age where his mere presence would force retreats or surrenders. These creatures, shadows of a true vampire, merely viewed him as a meal. It made his grip on the weapon within his cloak tighten. He would slaughter them all. Or, at least, as many as he could before they slaughtered him. In Odin’s name, it would be so. Thor had long since accepted that.
Without much surprise, one of the vampires before Thor tried her luck. With almost blinding speed, she threw herself at his newly exposed neck. Thor stepped to the side and in a single motion, threw his hidden arm out from his cloak. A loud crack, much like thunder, rocked the warehouse. The vampire’s body crashed into an old wooden boat resting by the dock. Her flesh was motionless, her skin severely burnt. Even amongst the cracked wood, one could tell that her head was no longer with her body.
“A weakened god.” A strange and deep voice called, “With a hammer that doesn’t answer his truly answer anymore.” A throaty ‘oow’ punctuated many of his words, “A strike that would once ruin his building.”
Thor clenched his jaw as he turned to the entrance of the building.
Tony frowned as he peered downwards. A bizarre creature walked forwards onto the observation deck of the dock. Well, it kind of walked. It rested much of its weight on knuckles, and used its usually long arms to push its body and legs forward. It was orange. Thick with orange fur. The strange animal towards over the sculpted man by at least four extra feet. It was colossal. From what Tony could see using his binoculars, the hairless face wasn’t human at all. It had pointed ears that were pressed to its cheeks. Its eyes were sunken deep into a large forehead. A forehead framed by large cheeks that flared out to its sides.
“Is that a monkey?” Tony whispered.
“Ape.” The others said in unison.
They both smiled sheepishly at each other before turning to Tony.
“No tail, so it’s an ape.” Peter explained.
“A big one.” The jade giant murmured, “Is that the head vampire? It’s not even human.”
Thor eyed up his opponent closely. The large ape ‘oow’ed several times as it sniffed the air. For a moment, Varnae’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. Thor unclasped his cloak and let it drop to his feet. His wide arms were that of an axe. His muscles were cut deep and long, much like his jaw. His blonde hair messily spilled over his shoulders and met his large, greying beard. His chest armour glistened with silver and was cut into circular runes and patterns. A purple and blue shine hissed and shot through the metals at random intervals, much like the small bursts of lightning occurring around Mjolnir. His legs were covered in a creature’s thick hide, whilst his silver boots were of the same design and metal that his chest and forearm armour was made. Resting in his left hand was a cracking hammer, carved with many runes.
Varnae was not impressed. In fact, as he looked at the flexing god before him, he looked disappointed. It was as though he was promised one gift, only to receive the home-brand version. He ‘oow’ed several more times.
“You may mock me, Varnae.” Thor chuckled bitterly, “But mocking the house of Odin, King of the-”
“No Tyr? No Vidar? No Freyja? No threat.” Varnae said as he swayed side to side, “Leave me be. Go, fallen god.”
Thor gritted his teeth and growled. With a scream, he threw his mighty hammer at the vampiric beast. However, as he did so, two mirrors appeared. One directly in front of Thor and the other at his side. The hammer slid through one mirror only to reappear through the other. With a shout, Thor felt his own weapon collide with his chest. The force of the blow sent him skirting into the water, the concrete bay cracking around him as he did so. The vampires jeered and rubbed their hands together. Some even complained at how quickly the fight had lasted. They became silent as Varnae’s sunken eyes looked into each and every one of them.
With a loud splash, Thor fly into the air and landed onto the pavement. He whipped his hair back and held Mjolnir to his side. With a strangled yell, he lifted his hammer above him. Varnae slowly raised a thick, leathery finger. A strange, glass-like material appeared around the entire building. Thor’s eyes widened. His summoned lightning crashed upon the shield like waves upon rocks. The glass didn’t even crack. With a frustrated scream, Thor spun and threw his hammer at Varnae once more. The ape’s skin turned into a shadowy completion, so much so that faded from view entirely. The hammer knocked through a wall as Varnae reappeared by a door. He ‘oow’ed several times to his creations before turning to leave. He didn’t even so much as look at Thor before turning his back on him.
Thor grunted in insult and held his hand out. His heart sank, just as it had for many recent months. Mjolnir didn’t return. In fact, Thor could feel resistance to his silent pleas. The back of his mind became cold and distant, where it was once loyal and passionate. His eyes scanned the vampires as they rose and stepped forwards with wicked smiles. There were at least forty now, all in a circle around the weapon-less god. Thor silently looked to the skies above.
“For you, father.”
He growled as lightning surged through his fists. He grabbed the first vampire foolish enough to challenge him and threw his other fist through the vampire’s head. It shattered and burnt around the might his hand and the flicks of his cruel lighting. He grunted as he felt many arms try to subdue him. Before any fangs touched his divine skin, he bellowed. Many strands of lightning kisses and dug into the flesh of those around him. Agonised screams filled the air as Thor knocked back several vampires that tried to get close. He was losing ground. With each successful strike, more vampires were latching onto his skin. The first bite upon his arm made him growl with fury. He tore the creature head from its wretched body but a sharp fist knocked into his temple as he did so. Thor staggered back, but laughed as he continued to savagely defend himself. Many were lying upon the floor, yet even more were clutching his body. He screamed as more and more fangs tore into his flesh, desperate to bleed the god dry. A rather nasty vampire drop to her knee, sunk her fangs into his thigh and ripped her teeth downwards. A horrific gash poured an usual blood onto the floor. A blood that tasted exotic and like pure ecstasy on the tongue. Thor let out a weakened gasp as he lost the strength to support him. He punched and tore at any vampire near him as he crumpled to his knees. He would die fighting. He would die fighting in Odin’s name.
Peter was standing tensely as he watched the display. He bit his lip. The man, god, thing, whatever, was about to die. There was still at least two dozen left and all of them were crawling on top of the blonde giant. His fear turned to dread, but not for himself. For the man that he was watching getting butchered. He couldn’t save one woman. He could save this man.
“Cover me…or something.” He said, much to the shock of the others.
“We need a pl…” The woman’s voice drowned away as Peter leapt downwards with a perfect flip.
Out of panic and worry, the jade giant jumped after him within a second of calling out. Tony sighed as he eyed the distance to the ground. He shook his head and pulled out his hipflask.
“Oh, I’ll just, uh, use the front door, then?” Tony muttered as he rose to his feet and began drinking the entire contents.
Peter managed a perfect surprise attack as he landed a swinging kick to the vampire at the blonde’s side. The vampire yelped as she skidded into the water. Peter landed on his feet, drawing the attention of every vampire. His heart stopped.
“Hey, guys. Um, really loved you in Bram Stoker’s book. Shame they…can’t really…adapt it…well.” He drifted off as two men jumped at him.
With utter ease, the nimble teen simply rolled between them, making them both overrun. However, before they could turn and assault him from behind, a towering woman landed behind them. She grabbed them by their arms and spun on her feet with a shout. The force of the throw shattered the wooden walls as they flew out of the building. She grinned to herself before abruptly being tackled. She caught one fist but gasped as another collided with her chin. Then her eye. A nasty knee tried to crack her ribs. She gritted her teeth and, to Peter’s amazement, headbutted the woman above her with such force that the vampire’s neck snapped backwards. The jade woman gagged as she hastily pushed the shuddering creature off of her. She turned on her heels and eyed the many vampires circling her and Peter. Peter, remembering many similar moments from films, suddenly turned his back to her and closed the distance between them. They began to move in an awkward, yet synchronised, circle as they waited for the next attack.
Thor took his chance. He shouted loudly as even more lightning poured off of his body. It was weak, but enough to hurt the vampires so much that they weakened their grips. With several mighty strikes, the god freed himself and savagely inflicted much pain and death upon those that challenged him. He was still bleeding, however. The flesh of his leg was exposed. His vision was not sharp. Maybe, however, he would not die that day. Maybe…He limped forward, his eyes drawn to the shattered wall where Mjolnir laid and ignored him. Several vampires tried to get between the mighty god and his infamous weapon. With great effort and equal pain, Thor managed to pry them again and loosen their heads from their necks.
A vampire smirked as she leapt and wrapped her legs around the jade giant’s throat. Her hands quickly grabbed her jaw and attempted to yank it up. The woman beneath her panicked, fearing the next brutal stroke. It never came. A strange whining sound preceded the vampire dropping off of her shoulders. She peered down. Her head had a severe burn mark that carved into her skull. The green woman turned to see Tony by the door, winking and blowing a kiss as he threw away a smoking disk.
He hastily replaced it and lifted his palm at the nearest vampire. He grimaced as the resulting force practically tore into his arm muscles, yet the repulsor managed to actually kill a vampire. Tony chuckled softly. He could fight. He wasn’t a complete waste of help. He held up his other vampire just as another vampire turned to look at him. He managed another blast, yet he had quickly learned a very useful lesson. Repulsor blasts will only kill a vampire if you managed to strike their head. The vampire screamed in agony as he clutched his singed chest. Tony’s eyes widened in panic. With shaking hands, he did his best to replace both disks. As he felt hands on his shoulder, he immediately fired. The vampire screamed as a second shot burned into his thigh, and Tony followed through with a shot to his head. It was enough to finally knock him down.
Tony’s panic didn’t ease, nor did his fortune get better. Before he could replace his disks, a woman appeared in front of him. He opened his mouth, his best one-liner on the ready, when she grabbed his throat and smiled cruelly. He blinked rapidly, thinking through hundreds of mistakes within his life. From the drinking, the drugs, the arguable investor fraud, the shameless sex, the investment in a rather questionable dog teleporting experiment, there was many mistakes to pick. All that led to man that would be remembered as a joke. A failed son from a family of worshipped Americans. The pathetic end to his familial line. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t fearful. He was just ashamed, more than anything.
His shame turned to confusion, and then disgust as a thick liquid coated his face and shirt. The woman’s body dropped to the floor, her head rolling by Tony’s feet. He peered to the wall at his side. A large, circular shield was cut into the concrete. Tony staggered back. He was dead or dying. It was a dream. A very bizarre LSD trip. A trip that got even more confusing as a man appeared out of nowhere next to the shield. He sported a strange leather suit that was blue and black, and the silver, domed helmet was almost cringe inducing. With a loud, metallic groan, the man pulled the shield off of the wall and used both of his arms to throw it. A man sprinting faster than any man that Tony had seen sprint caught the shield with absolute ease. He slid his thick arm into the latches and jumped at a vampire. The shield knocked back several blows before the blonde man managed his own swift strike to the chest.
“Hello, civilian. Please leave out the nearest door an…Tony?”
Tony turned to the strange man and his jaw dropped. He knew that voice. A wave of disgust, frustration and sheer outrage flooded the petty man.
“You…Pym?! You…What…What the fuck is going…”
Before Tony could finish, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Replacing the disk, he raised his arm and, as smoothly as he could in front of Hank, fired a round into a vampire trying to sneak up on them. He could hear an impressed gasp at the sight of the repulsor, making Tony smirk widely. However, Hank held up a finger to signal Tony to wait. As a vampire raced towards them, Hank touched his belt and suddenly disappeared. Tony’s mouth dropped, as did his pride. The vampire, although confused, continued her charge at Tony. An invisible force tackled her feet, knocking her to the ground. Before she could lift herself up, something collided with her skull. The floor cracked underneath her head just as Hank reappeared. Tony glared at him, dozens of questions about the suit forming.
“Pretty cool, right?” Hank laughed, “Who are these creeps?”
“Vampires.” Tony answered through gritted teeth.
Hank laughed, only to see Tony’s dire expression. He stepped back, his eyes wide. He quickly turned to the tall blonde as he attempted to block the extremely fast barrage of attacks.
“Steve! They’re vampires!”
“T-thanks!” Was the strained response.
“That’s…That’s not possible. He’s dead.” Tony whispered.
Tony was not the only one in disbelief. Peter stared as his summer history project expertly struck a vampire’s arm and then followed with a high kick to the jaw. A god with a hammer of lightning was, despite his concerning injuring, literally crushing skulls into the ground. A world-famous scientist and personal inspiration was using laser things to shoot heads off. A man that could shrink was beating vampires up whilst being the size of an ant. A very tall, muscular and stunning woman was throwing them through walls. As he sidestepped a vampire and used his webs to yank him in the direction of one of Captain America’s strikes, Peter said the first thing that came to his mind.
“This is freaking amazing!” He shouted with a heightened laugh.
While the jade giant didn’t want to admit it, she was almost very impressed and excited by what she was seeing. They had survived. They had won. While the strange ape had escaped and many, including herself, were hurt, all of the vampires were motionless on the ground. She smiled widely at Spider-Man, shaking her head bashfully as she regathered her breath.
“I have…so many questions…for so many of you.” Tony sighed as he walked towards the group, “Are…Are you really Steve Rogers?”
Steve flushed slightly, but nodded. Tony shook his head with disbelief. What started as someone hacking into a police server had led to fighting vampires with Captain America. Perhaps, he really was still on LSD.
“You knew that thing.” The green woman said to Thor.
The god was resting by the water. His leg needed attention and soon. The mighty god of thunder was swaying as his feet dipped into the cool water. He had fought well for Odin. At least, in his mind he had. No doubt, Odin had his own opinion. Before he could answer the beautiful woman, he felt a horrid presence around them. He growled and ignored the ripping pain in his lg as he rose to his feet. A strange smoke circled them. The ground immediately formed a defensive circle as figures appeared from the darkness. Vampires. More than dozens. Well over a hundred. Peter stepped back in fear. Everyone, except for Captain America and the amazing shrinking man, was bleeding, cut in horrible ways, and panting with exhaustion. That had been against two dozen of these things.
“Tactical retreat?” Tony suggested softly and Steve turned to Thor.
“Can you summon enough lightning to buy us some time?”
“Why bother?” Thor growled and he forced himself forward, “If this is our day to enter Valhalla, let us fight a glorious entry into the-”
“You won’t get glory.” Steve said sharply as he stepped directly in front of Thor.
The god eyed up the man that was openly challenging him. He was tempted to strike the fool for robbing him of a proud death, but the fool continued.
“We’re outnumbered, and you’re bleeding out. You want to fight a glorious end? There’s no glory in lasting a second. I know this. You’re not the only soldier here. Pick your fights better. Help us, and we’ll help you. I promise.”
Thor eyed him coolly, yet saw no cowardice or fear in his eyes. He was not suggesting a retreat out of his own personal sense of needing to run. He turned to those around him, seeing their wounds. If it were to be a fight, it would not be a long one. He had not fought Varnae, either. His destiny still lied before him beyond this day.
“I suggest you mortal close your eyes. You shall be in awe of the power of the Aesir!” He shouted as he raised his hammer.
Everyone covered their eyes with them arms as hundreds of tiny bolts of lightning struck the areas between their group and the vampire mass. They hissed and howled, many staggered back as their sensitive eyes burned with the colourful display of blue, yellow and purple.
“Can you still fly?” The green woman asked Thor as she suddenly grabbed Hank’s back.
Thor turned to Steve and, without asking, latched onto arm. With a pained shout, he managed to summon with power to shoot into the air. Peter immediately grabbed Tony and shot a web towards the ceiling. With a hasty yank, he was right behind the god and the hero. The jade woman turned to Hank.
“Stare at my chest and-”
“Married for a decade.” Was his urgent response.
“That doesn’t stop most people.” She muttered as she leapt into the air.
The running lasted for about ten minutes. Between Thor, Spider-Man and the jade giant, the group covered significant ground as they eventually crashed onto a random rooftop. As they dusted themselves off, Tony was the first to mutter.
“They’ll continue running after us. We saw how fast they run. We’re only a few blocks away.”
“Options?” Steve asked everyone.
“We could call Janet,” Hank soon sighed, “Doubt my lab will hide us for long, given a certain agency wants us.”
“I live in a small apartment in Queens.” Peter shook his head, “Not a great option.”
“Similar scenario.” The green woman said softly.
“You’re all welcome to crash at mine.” Tony grinned, “It’s only on the absolute other side of the city.”
Steve turned to Thor. The man had not been bothering to listen. His eyes were staring in the direction of where they had fled. Fled. May Heimdall not report this to his father. He could be mocked in even more songs for cowardice.
“Do you have anywhere?”
Thor turned to the blonde at his side. He looked away and grunted in a deep tone.
“When I first came to this realm, I met one of your sorcerers. The vampires were reluctant to enter his domain. That may change with enough need, however.”
“Sorcerers? We have wizards?” Tony sighed and closed his head as he leaned his head back, “I need a fucking drink.” He whispered.
“Is it nearby?” Hank asked, having taken off his ridiculous helmet to breathe fresher air.
Thor grunted in a low tone once more. He turned to look at the others with a blank, empty look. Finally, he nodded.
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope you’re well and enjoyed that chapter. Sorry for the large length, but I just wanted to get the Pym Particle and shield recovery out of the way sooner so that the story can flow faster from now on. I promise all other chapters will be under 10,000 words.
I hope the Antman stuff wasn’t too rushed, but again, needed it to happen sooner. Janet will enter the fray shortly, I just wanted to play around with what prototype Pym Particles will do to someone’s brain.
The next chapter will introduce the final member of the team, and delve into Varnae’s rather weird backstory. Like, I know comics are very creative, but even by those standards, Varnae is such a bizarre character. It will also have more team bonding and interactions with everyone.
If have any feedback or suggestions, feel free to leave a comment or kudos. It always fantastic to see those. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this story and have a brilliant end to the week!
Fact of the chapter: The man with the highest ever recorded IQ was James Sidis, with 275. He entered Harvard at 11, and finished by speaking 40 languages. I can barely speak one…
Chapter 5: The Last of a Dying Order
Chapter Text
The building that Thor led them to was an odd mix of colonial stone and more modernised wood and glass. Spider-Man hummed as he eyed it from their place on a nearby rooftop across the street. He couldn’t decide if he believed it to be a very large, four-story house or an early attempt at an office building. The stone was stained a faded green, and the few windows that looked down at the street looked fogged with mould.
“This looks like a dealer’s den.” Tony muttered as he strapped some of his torn shirt around a bleeding arm.
“You’d know all about that.” Hank muttered from his side.
Before Tony could rise and retort, Steve stepped between them and looked at Thor. The giant of an Aesir was panting as he swayed by the rooftop edge. His leg’s bleeding had not stopped, and the foul wound was gapping for all to see. He had not spoken since they had followed him to this place. Whether that was due to his choice or blood loss was anyone’s guess.
“Will he attack us for coming unannounced?” The soldier asked.
Thor simply swayed several more times. Steve stepped closer and shook his bloodstained shoulder. Thor eventually turned his eyes to the muscular man. They were dull and unfocussed. The watery-blue texture seemed to have faded to a weaker shade since their time in the warehouse. Steve sighed and kneeled. Before the god could utter a word, he soon grimace and bit into his lip until blood trickled on his tongue. Steve had snuck under his arm, pulled him to his good foot and was doing his best to support the colossal figure. Even a man such as Steve Rogers was strained and panting under the immense weight that was the body of a Nordic god. Thor’s hiss soon turned to a deep, yet pained, chuckle.
“You…are a cruel yet stubborn…”
His final word was something not in English, or any other language that Steve recognised. He hoped that it was a compliment.
“We don’t know how far behind us they are.” Steve said as he yanked Thor up a little more, “We need to move.”
“I can muster a final flight.” Thor said in a deep tone.
“If this fucking wizard kills us…” Tony muttered as he stood up, “Okay. Who’s throwing me? Or, are we using the front door.”
“There are more doors to that place that what you can see.” Thor murmured in thought, “Walk in my stead.” He said.
With great effort, he leaned down to lift his bulky hammer. Without warning, he latched onto Steve’s torso and flung their bodies towards the building. Many eyes went wide, but soon their mouths dropped. Thor was flying towards the slanted roof, not the green door. Yet, before they crashed into the flaked wooden panels, they vanished. They bodies rippled as if they were diving into water. Hank took a step back, pointing idly at where the scene had occurred. Tony just shook his head, looking for his flask.
“Ready, Mis…Tony?” Spider-Man asked, hindering the sweating man’s search.
“Uh? Oh. Oh! Yeah, whatever. If we die, it’s been an honour, comrades.”
He saluted Jen and Hank mockingly before smiling lopsidedly at the lanky man in the red hoodie. The alcohol was well and truly in his system. The adrenaline of the fight had almost entirely worn through. All that was left was a muttering, mumbling man that felt numb muscles and toes and fingers that fizzed with pleasant feelings. Spider-Man didn’t notice, either due to his inexperience dealing with intoxicated people or the fact that he was currently holding the Tony Stark. With an excited nod, the teen grabbed his idol, slung a web onto a nearby building and leapt off the building. A moment later, Jen heard a sigh at her side.
“Let’s get this over with.” Hank said as he put his domed helmet back on.
As Jen leapt towards the odd building with a mighty shout, she saw Spider-Man and Stark vanish as well. She felt her chest seize and Hank swore at they neared the ceiling. What came next felt as if they were sliding through jelly. A thick, wet sensation ripped against their skin and clothes for nearly five seconds before it ended. When it did, they crashed into a nasty smelling rug. There was a high-pitched sound ringing in their ears. It was like the sound of a kettle boiling, yet was so much harsher to the ear. Hank immediately pulled off his helmet and rubbed his aching neck as he peered around. They were in a strange reading room, or perhaps a museum or sorts. At their side was a dark wooden table with several seats caked in dust. The walls were lined with glass cabinets filled with odd and mundane objects. A simple pair of reading glasses. A red robe made from a very thick fabric. A set of wooden dice that looked older than Thor. Dozens of such objects surrounded them. As did a dozen glowing swords that were hovering above their heads.
Steve and Spider-Man were kneeling, their hands in the air. Thor was resting by the table, his lids heavy like his breathing. Tony was grinning widely as he waved at the swords, watching as several of them followed his hand.
“Oh, will you shut up?!” Someone groaned as they entered the room, “I know someone’s here.”
A tall, middle-aged man with a very square face poddled into the room. His handlebar moustache was creased in annoyance as he waved his hand, causing the teapot whistle to ease. His black hair was greying quite significantly, evident in the fact that the sides of his face were marked by thick panels of greyish-white hair. Like Tony, his hair was messy and long, and his cheeks were growing with unkempt stubble. His eyes were dark and bloodshot. He didn’t appear to have slept in days. He wore what appeared to be a simple grey bathrobe. Spider-Man felt his shoulder’s drop. He was hoping that the wizard would at least have a hat or staff.
Severe eyes turned to Thor, before soon inspecting each of the others. While he was clearly not impressed by his sudden guests, he hesitated when his grey eyes met Steve Rogers and the circular shield at his feet. Without saying a word, he waved his hand in a circular motion and stared at the thin air. Nothing happened. Well, nothing that the others could understand. The man grunted and muttered a soft ‘That’s interesting’ before turning to Thor once more.
“We’re even, Prince of the Aesir. Please, take your friends out. I’m sure between…whatever they are, you can handle your issue.”
“He’s bleeding.” Steve said firmly, “We came here for help. We’re being-”
“Hunted by vampires.” The man formed a bitter smile, “Thanks for leading them here. I love it when my house is surrounded by thirteen…now fifteen…vampires.”
Jen’s eyes widened. They had already made it to the house. They were closer to the group than Thor was admitting, or had realised in his fragile state. How close were they to being attacked again? Would they attack the house with the wizard still in it? The man seemed to be guessing several of their thoughts.
“They might attack. They might not.” He shrugged, “Who cares? We all die some time.” His eyes turned to Thor, “Some just take longer than others.”
“Can you help him or not?” Said Steve with further weight to his voice, “We came a long way. Can you heal his-”
“Yes, Captain America.” The man replied with a bored tone, “I can heal a cut.”
He walked towards Thor and waved into the air. The blades faded into the air, much to their relief. Spider-Man immediately rose, cracked his back with a smile, and eagerly walked to watch the wizard at work. Hank was next, although he was still preoccupied by the strange artefacts in the green room. Thor didn’t acknowledge the magical man as he kneeled to his side. Spider-Man watched as the man waved his hands over Thor’s horrific wound, whispering and murmuring to himself. He closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that no one else could hear. With a clearing of the thought, something was uttered as he extended his open palm to his side. A thick book materialised underneath his fingers. Fingers that were encased in a brace made from thin metal rods, several of which looked as if they were dug into the bone. The man muttered several more times as he scanned many pages. With a mild grunt, he slammed the tome shut and the book disappeared from sight.
“Asgardian biology.” He shook his head, “A nightmare. Don’t move.” He instructed quickly.
He slapped his hands together as he spoke many strange words into the air. They were beautiful and melodious in nature, and the others felt their anxiety drift into ease as they heard them. Symbols cut into the air, their blue glue shining sharply against the dulled background. They moved until they formed a disk around each of the man’s hands. Mist soon poured from his palms. A mist that kissed Thor’s wound. The god let out a deep breath that he seemed to be holding for hours. Steve’s mouth was dipping open. There was no gash or even a cut to blight Thor’s skin. It was still caked in thick blood, yet he was healed.
“Thank you.” Steve said, holding his hand out.
The man eyed it and grunted as he turned his back to the man.
“He’s healed. Please, if the band could leave?”
“So the vampires can get us?” Hank laughed in disbelief.
“They’ll get you either way, here or not.” The man’s voice was cool and held a faint warning to it, “I have important research to conduct. I don’t have any time for vampires at the moment.”
“Do you we at least get a name?” Steve tried with a smile.
“No.” Was the blunt response, “Leave, or I’ll-”
“Shit!”
The group turned to see Jen’s back suddenly being turned to them. She appeared to be trying to hit herself or something. Whatever it was that she was trying to do, it didn’t appear to be working. Her panic increased and the others quickly understood why. Her height was decreasing swiftly. Her muscles were smoothening into plain skin. Skin that was pale, and not emerald. Her black hair was practically the only thing that remained the same. Eventually, a woman with ivory skin that was now the shortest person in the room took shake. Her head was in her hands and she made an effort to turn it away whenever someone took a step closer.
“So, not permanent.” Tony grinned, “Damn. Was growing to love the green.”
“Shut up!” She snapped in embarrassment.
Her exercise leotard was now several sizes too large and was pooling in unflattering ways around much of her body. Steve looked around. Without consulting the rude owner of the house, he took a coat that was lying on a chair by the corner. Without looking directly at her, Steve offered it to Jen.
“Thanks.” She whispered with a blush as she wrapped it around her body, “Captain America.”
Steve laughed gently and shook his head.
“Steve.” He corrected, “And you?”
She sighed and shook her head reluctantly. She looked very uncomfortable very quickly.
“I…I have a very public job.” Her blush deepened, “I can’t just, you know, give tha-”
“Tony Stark.” Tony grinned as he staggered sideways, “Hank Pym, the dullest scientist in world. Steve Rogers. Thor.” He chuckled teasingly at her, much to her annoyance, “And you, my dear?”
Jen bit her lip. Everyone was staring directly at her and she felt the social pressure immediately thrust upon her. It tightened around her neck like a cruel snake, stopping any words from passing. Without the shield of being green and huge, the woman’s stomach turned on itself and she took a small step back. She had prepared for this. It was only six people. She could handle a simple conversation with just six people. Six people that were all staring at her…
“Pe…Peter. Uh, I’m Peter.”
Jen’s eyes looked over the others to the tall man at the back. Except, he was no man. His doe-ish face was long and tight, fitting in well with his skinny arms and legs. His light eyes were as excited as they were nervous. He had stupidly messy hair, to boot. All in all, he was a teenager. A teenager that made Jen sigh and feel like an idiot. His voice was deep…ish. He spoke maturely. Well, she thought so. She didn’t really speak to teens, even when she was one herself. Humiliation quickly washed over the woman. She had found the voice and laugh of a teen attractive. The last thing that a lawyer needed was that type of lawsuit.
“Peter Parker.” Tony said in a mocking sneer before forming a softer smile, “Nice one, putting one past me, kid.”
“That’s not hard, Tony.” Hank rolled his eyes.
His tone was different. At least, in Tony’s eyes. Hank was boisterous in front of cameras, yet in small social clicks such as this, Tony knew him to be shy and reserved. Yet, his words were laced with a spiteful confidence that Tony only really experienced from his own mother. His expression was harder, less gentle as it often was near Janet. Tony mostly understood it as a result of a terrifying ordeal with monster. Mostly.
“You are young.” A deep voice observed.
Thor rose to his feet. With strength back in his soul, the giant man’s heavy feet padded over to Peter. His eyes were wide and he was practically shaking as the Aesir towered over him. Steve quickly stepped towards the pair. Even Tony, in a brief moment of sober thought, looked in concern at the intimidating man leaning over the newly revealed teenager. Before anyone could speak, Thor addressed Peter once more.
“You fight with the bravery of many men.” Peter almost fell over as Thor clapped his shoulder, “The spirit of Tyr is within you.”
“T-thanks?”
“Jen.” The short woman sighed, still quite upset as she looked at Peter with childish distain, “Just…Jen.”
“Terrific.” The wizard grinned sarcastically, “You all know each other. Please, go have a party some-”
“Varnae.” Steve’s voice made the other man glower, “That’s his name, right?”
“Yes.” Thor nodded, “That is what I was told by Odin.”
“So, to be clear,” Tony wiped something from his eyes, “You are Thor? From Norse mythology? I’m not tripping or anything?”
The god looked as if the question was as pathetic as it was foolish. The exhale he released had enough force to almost knock Peter down again.
“I am Thor, crown prince of the Aesir. Storm rider. Wielder of M-”
“Terrific.” Tony nodded, “Just a ‘yes’ would have worked.”
Instead of looking offended, an almost amused smile crept on Thor’s face.
“A lot of bark from such a small pup.” As Tony opened his mouth, Thor held his hand up, “I have no interest in squabbling, warrior of Midgard.” He turned to the man that had healed him, “I thank you, Strange.” He inclined his head, “But I must request aid in my task.”
“Don’t bother.” The man named Strange spat, “You lasted, what, five minutes? Ten? How long? It doesn’t matter. Varnae is back. He could be knocking on the door. He could be in Mexico. Either way, he’s probably going to kill you eventually.” He sighed as he attempted to make his way to the door, “Like I said, we all die some time.”
“Who is he?” Steve asked with confusion, “Was he one of the vampires?”
A deep laugh escaped Tony. He turned away from the old pens in the cabinet and gave Steve a look of mirth.
“You weren’t there? You didn’t see the monk-”
“Ape.” Peter and Jen corrected, making Peter smile while Jen shook her head.
“Ape?” Hank looked at Tony, “How drunk are you?”
“Not enough to make up a giant ape.” He answered as he leaned against the table, “Thor, do share with the class what happened.”
Even behind his thick beard, it was clear to see that Thor quickly grew quite agitated. His eyes seemed to shine with a new energy and he stretched his fingers until they cracked. Eventually, he turned to Strange with a cold, commanding look. One that even Strange’s bitterness ceded to. The man smiled in a way that was not happy in the slightest. In fact, it made Steve very uncomfortable as he looked at the thin line of lip.
“Varnae, the first vampire. At least, ‘Varnae’ was what the Atlanteans called him two and a half thousand years ago.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose, and he was quick to inspect everyone else’s reactions. They, too, looked dumbstruck.
“Atlantis? Is…Was that rediscovered after the war?” Steve asked with genuine curiosity.
“No.” Hank was staring intently at Strange, “It wasn’t.”
“Well, they’re dead now.” Strange snorted, “They were very interested in mixing science with magic. So much so that, according to history, they experimented on using magic to extend lifespans. They lived…shorter than other humans would. A side effect of some…unethical magic that they tended to use.” A dark grin overcame Strange as he remembered the readings, “Anyway. So, they cast one spell too many on a Gigantopithecus.” Several blank eyes met his, “The ancestors to Orangutans.” He sighed, “Varnae’s intelligence grew, and he lived far longer than expected. In fact, it is claimed that he even taught magic to human students. Generations passed, and Varnae continued to live.”
Strange let out another cruel chuckle.
“One small price, though. Sacrifices. Varnae was the first and only of his kind because the Atlanteans eventually learned their mistake. Varnae needed blood. That was the key to his immortality. A rather literal version of blood magic, rather basic, really. They couldn’t kill him. He’d learnt to much magic before they realised what he was eating. A fragile co-existence happened, and Varnae began to appear in other texts from other cultures.” His tone became almost remorse as he stared out into nothingness, “Eventually, the Atlanteans cast one dark spell too many. The city collapsed into the sea, killing millions in minutes. Naturally, Varnae survived but he was the only one. Alone, one of a kind, without purpose…” Strange’s eyes hollowed for a moment, “Enough to turn anyone cruel.” He murmured, “Varnae travelled for a time, seeing what other magic was taught on Earth. He started biting others without killing them, turning them into his disciples. By the time of Christ, the Sorcerer Supreme became aware of his existence as he travelled into Asia.”
“Sorcerer Supreme?” Peter grinned wildly.
This was by far one of the greatest days in his life. He had fought vampires alongside other superpowered people and was now listening to a wizard tell him about vampires from Atlantis. For that, he was the only one in the room seeming to be enjoying Strange’s story.
“The head of my order. The Sorcerer Supreme at the time offered Varnae a deal. She would allow Varnae to live if he agreed to allow her to find a cure to his…feeding habits.” Strange rolled his eyes, “Naturally, Varnae tried to kill her out of insult. The Sorcerer Supreme banished Varnae from the Earth. Centuries passed. We thought he’d died. They are worse things in the universe than a vampire.”
“He tried to enter Vanaheim centuries ago.” Thor spoke with a thoughtful tone, “Freyja and Njordr made the fiend regret such a journey.”
“Centuries ago.” Strange shook his head, “He was younger. He’s back to reclaim his dominion on the Earth. Wherever he went, he’s learnt enough secrets and knowledge to not be phased by Earth anymore.” Strange shook his head slightly as he thought to himself, “We’re just insects, now.”
“Why didn’t the current Sorcerer Supreme stop him?” Peter asked, still enthralled in the story.
He had never regretted a question more in his life. The cold, empty look that Strange offered him made his body freeze. The room seemed to be a void that grew around Peter. No other sights or sounds mattered to him as Strange kidnapped all of his senses. A silent moment of such an intense gaze occurred before Steve spoke.
“How many other wiza-”
“Sorcerers.” Strange corrected, his eyes only just leaving Peter, “And barely any. Varnae, in a single moment, saw to that.” He said softly.
Hank didn’t know what to think. He’d honestly been thinking it was either a mutant or an animal subject to cruel tests that was committing the killings. Stealing a shield with the aid of Captain America was one thing. Fighting magical creatures that seemed impossible to even harm was another. His enthusiasm was no more, nor was his previously considerable confidence in what the Pym Particles could do. He was still only human, after all.
“Do you understand?” Strange continued in his dreary voice, “Just don’t bother with this.”
“I can’t.” Steve shook his head, “People are dying. If this…ape wants to harm people, we need to stop him. We handled his buddies well enough.” He finished with an optimistic tone.
“A few dozen.” Jen said to herself, “He had a hundred towards the end. Where’d,” She shifted uncomfortably as everyone looked at her again, “Where’d all the people come from? Surely they’d be enough missing people from the city for-”
“They’re not just from New York.” Strange explained, “You honestly think he isn’t careful enough to spread his net wide and thin? I doubt half of the people you saw spoke English in any capacity.”
“All the more reason we need to stop this guy.” Steve repeated.
“You keep saying ‘we’.” Tony clicked his tongue, “We a band now?”
“Can I pick the name?” Peter hummed for a moment, “What about…’Excalibur’? Too nerdy?”
“We work well together.” Steve said in a simple manner, making Hank and Jen flush, “We can’t do this on our own.”
“You can’t do this in any…” Strange soon sighed, “I give up. Do what you…”
He stopped a redhead woman slowly entered the room. She was a pale, young thing, barely older than eighteen. She was bitting her thick lip tightly as she carried a wooden tray of teacups onto the table. Her eyes bulged with fear as she saw Thor. The latter took a single step forward and she was gone. Her speed was that of the very monsters that they had fight less than an hour ago.
“She’s one of them.” Jen frowned.
Strange rolled his eyes and gave Thor a sideways glare.
“Yes. An unwanted guest that won’t leave.”
“Does she know anything about Varnae?” Steve asked Strange, but Thor spoke.
“No.”
“Well, I think we need a plan.” Steve suggested, “Something.”
Silence. Steve sighed in deep frustration. Surely all of them weren’t against fighting Varnae. He turned to Hank, seeing a nervous and forlorn expression that was meekly offered to him. Jen was almost as uneasy as Hank, and Tony looked…Tony appeared to be pouring something into his tea. It all made Steve shake his head and bite into his lip. Surely people had not become so cautious and self-serving since his time in the ice. People were dying. People would continue to die. In Steve’s opinion, the people surrounding him were by far some of the most powerful people on the planet. If he was mistaken, then he was nothing by a mere average human compared to what was stronger than Thor or Jen.
“It is my oath to destroy Varnae.” Thor said, finally breaking the pregnant pause, “Do not bring terror into your hearts. I shall handle him.”
“Thor,” Jen said before grimacing as she tried to find the right words, “Look, you’re…You’re really awesome. And strong.” Thor eyed her passively, leading to her sighing, “Look, you got your ass handed to you. If this is your oath, you’re in trouble.”
Jen saw a strange expression flash across his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was recognition. He crossed his mighty arms and simply became quiet. Given he was so large, one could mistake the quiet man for a mountain with ease.
“Exactly.” Peter nodded, “Like Cap said, we should form a team. Like, it’s math. Stronger together. I mean…we can’t just ignore this, right? What happens tomorrow? Or the next day? Varnae’s not going away. We should stop this before it gets worse. Like, all of us.”
Steve smiled a very honest, genuine smile. Even Jen felt her mouth twitch slightly.
“I need to make some modifications.” Hank said as he softly knocked a knuckle against his helmet, “For it’s worth,” He formed a self-conscious smile, “I’ll help.”
“Yes.” Tony drawled and he slid forwards towards an increasingly annoyed Hank, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Shrinking? Do elaborate.”
A smug, cocky smile overcame Hank. One that made Tony grit his teeth.
“Pym Particles.” Tony’s eyes narrowed, “Janet and I have been working on it. Well, I started and she helped finish. Using a compound to compress the atomic structure of a living creature.” His arrogant smile widened, “I can shrink to the size of an ant with the strength of a bullet. I helped Cap, even.”
“Speaking of which,” Steve whispered to Strange, “I, uh…I…” He flushed in embarrassment, “I need somewhere safe to stay. I think I’m wanted by the Government.”
Strange’s mouth gaped a little and he rolled his tired eyes.
“Is this a hotel now?”
“Must be nice having Janet to bail you out.” Tony spat childishly, cutting across all other voices.
“At least I have a suit.” Mocked Hank with a snarl-like smile, “Cap and I saved your ass. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t thank you.” Tony said through tight teeth.
“Yeah, because it’s impossible for you to.” Hank shot back, “Tony Stark, the prodigal son of hubris. Why don’t you just find a model to fuck while we actually help people. Christ knows, when’s the last time you’ve ever done that?”
Tony’s pale face was flushed with a deep red. His sweaty complexion only made him look all the more madder. Whether it was the alcohol or the insults alone, the engineer took several steps forwards and tried to raise his arm. A thin arm sunk underneath his and, with shocking strength, lifted Tony off the ground and walked him backwards as if he were a toddler. Hank shook his head in disgust.
“You’re a joke, Stark.”
“Yeah?” Tony chuckled as Peter eased his hold a little, “You’re just a little kid looking for a big friend. You were like it in college, and you’re still like it. We all know who has the balls in your marriage.”
“Will you shut up?” Steve snapped.
It was the first time that anyone had heard the man yell. Tony looked down, desperate to avoid eye contact. Hank’s smug smile dropped quickly as Steve gave him a foul look before turning back to Strange.
“Please? Just for a few days.”
Had it been anyone else, Strange would have said no. Yet, it was Captain America. The man that Strange had to do several reports on when he was in school. There were worse guests to have, the dower sorcerer supposed. He nodded, but not in a pleasant way.
“Make a portal.” Tony said in a quiet voice, “Send me to Stark Industries.”
“I am not a tax-”
“Just do it.” Tony groaned loudly, “I can help. Just…Just send me to my tower. I have a hunch.”
He was lying. He had no idea what exactly he could contribute to any of the others. Yet, hell would be frozen before Hank Pym was proven right. The smug prick would not be the only scientist that stopped this vampire thing. Tony had survived being attacked by a fat lunatic that cut shrapnel into his heart and he had a built an endless source of clean power during the ordeal. He deserved to be there, he knew it. Hank didn’t know what the hell was talking about.
Strange clicked his tongue.
“Not that I care, but they will no doubt be tracking you all now. Even to your tower, Stark.”
“I’ll be back soon.” Replied Tony with a sweetened smile that irritated Strange.
“This isn’t a meeting ground. My shields will only hold out so many. If they attack, whoever is here will still die.”
“Charming.” Tony nodded without much care, “Well, if I die, I want a drink in my hand and two women in my lap.”
Jen frowned at the comment while Thor almost smiled a tad. Strange muttered something that was either an incantation or an insult. No one knew. His shaking fingers circled and swirled about to form an invisible pattern. Green mist formed and latched itself on Tony’s bleeding arm. His torn shirt dropped the ground, making Tony sober up slightly as he saw clean skin. Continuing his movements, Strange then drew another pattern in the air. Symbols formed once more, but this time around Tony. Before he could protest, his skin glowed to the colour of the sun. Pop. The man was gone. Hank took a step towards Strange. He looked the most apprehensive he had in the entire ordeal.
“My house, please. I need to update my wife.”
“I don’t know where the hell you live.” Strange said in disbelief, “I know Stark Tower because it’s on the news. Do you have a map? Why am I even asking this? Just…get a bus.”
“Ah…” Hank paused to think, “Do you know…Ah, Melrose Street?”
“No.” Was the blunt response.
“Crap. Um…Ah!” He suddenly smiled, “Pym Technnolo-”
“No idea.”
“It’s a pretty big company, just like Stark’s.” Hank lied, “Fine. Just…Remember on the news last year, when there was that burger joint that was caught using monkeys as workers?” Strange’s eyebrow quirked as he thought, “It’s near Summerby Lane?”
“Yes.” Strange almost chuckled, “Nine police cars were brought in to catch all of the animals.”
“Yeah, well I live two blocks away from that.”
“They might catch you.” Jen said with concern.
“I’d like to see them try.” Hank grinned as he tapped his helmet.
Before either Jen or Peter could point out that the shrinking offered no aid against a vampire’s superior speed, the cocky man was glowing yellow and vanished. Strange turned to them with his apathetic gaze. Peter shifted shyly and he stepped forwards.
“Would…Would it be okay…if I stayed the night and you sent me home before my aunt realised?” His eyes lowered somewhat, “I don’t want to bring vampires to the house.”
Strange said nothing. Yet, he didn’t exactly look as venomous as he had with Stark or even Pym. Instead of directly saying yes or no, he turned to Jen. The woman suddenly flushed and cleared her throat. It was just a magic man. A normal, magic man. Breathe in, speak loudly and clearly, and use normal words like a normal person.
“May I stay, too, Mister Magic?”
She closed her eyes instantly and swore to herself. She had been doing so well that evening. Part of her was starting to resent returning to a normal, humanly appearance. Things were so much easier when she was large and strong. Eyes seemed to be less intense when they turned to her, and her mouth seemed to respond much quicker than in her pale shade. Peter bit his lip to stop the chuckles and even Steve seemed to be resisting a smile. Strange just quirked a brow.
“Well, no one else is using any of the rooms.” He said in a low, remorseful tone, “Just don’t touch anything. I mean nothing.” He warned Peter.
Before he could unleash his full lecture on staying in the Sanctum Sanctorum, a pair of heavy feet moved closer. Thor placed Mjolnir at Strange’s feet and began to survey the collections around them. Without turning away from his inspections, he spoke.
“Do you have water for cleaning? I do not wish to stink of my own blood all evening.”
***
Janet’s face was creased heavily with concern as she stood within one of the many labs in Pym Technologies. While she did not know medicine, she knew enough about both Darren Cross and Michael Howl to understand when they looked uneasy. They had known each other for years, after all. Knowing to read their mouth twitches and nose flares was relatively easy for the cropped hair woman. She trusted them both to handle things with discretion, as they both cared for Hank a great deal. Yet, she knew that this would not be a pleasant visit. The moment that she had gotten Howl’s call and heard his cautious tone, she knew something was wrong. It didn’t help that he called during midnight, when Hank and Steve were still off on their little adventure. An adventure that Janet harshly protested to Hank’s deaf ears.
Howl, an elderly man with a bushy beard and thick glasses, oversaw many of the biology-based projects within Pym Technologies. Admittedly, it was not a large department in the nanotech company. Yet, due to Hank’s personal passion for the area, he had always gotten on swimmingly with the elderly researcher. It was due to that bond that she trusted him to speak plainly when it came to Hank’s true health.
“I’ll start by saying there’s nothing clearly wrong with Hank.” His gravelly voice reassured her.
“Clearly?” Janet titled her head.
Howl’s owl-shaped eyes blinked twice before handing her several sheets. Blood analysis and several brain scans that Hank had allowed them to conduct after the first time that he had used the Pym Particles. Janet brown eyes scanned across each document closely as Howl cleared his ropey throat.
“His brain scans look normal.” He said in his gravelly voice, “But, we only have one set. We don’t know what brain functions are happening after prolonged exposure. Hank’s blood…” He trailed off, making Janet’s stomach shift as she looked up with fear, “I don’t know. There’s only so much bloodwork can tell you. I do know that his body is processing proteins faster than normal. His metabolism has changed dramatically between the first sample and the most recent sample.”
“Those…Those weren’t a week apart.” Janet confirmed, making both Cross and Howl exchanged unpleasant looks, “Can you figure anything specific?”
“I want more brain scans.” Answered Howl without any hesitation, “I want more than just blood tests. I need a full examination. I have no idea what this stuff’s doing to him, but something is happening.”
Janet looked away as her eyes sharpened with concerned thought. Every possible worst-case scenario was now tunnelling though her mind.
“He shouldn’t have tested it so soon.” Cross suddenly looked very disappointed, “I shouldn’t have encouraged him.”
“I started this.” Janet whispered, “I was the one that told him to resume the research. Hell, I worked half the damn sequences.”
“Well, you need to rework it.” Howl sighed as he took off his circular glasses and rubbed his squeezed nose, “Get rid of the kinks, so to speak. If he shows abnormal signs, call me immediately.”
“Like?”
“Anything. Bleeding. Consistent vomiting. Strange physical symptoms like seizures. Mental ones, too. Mood swings. Depression. Anger or violence.”
The last option made Janet look down. The memory of him snapping at her in the van still hurt. He had never yelled at her in their entire relationship until now. Even as he geared up with Steve, the stern and aggressive look in his eyes unsettled her deeply. It was not the look of the soft man that she had loved and married. Those weren’t his eyes that stared so harshly at her. Her throat tightened at the thought. She had caused this by pushing the serum onto him. She was too eager and supportive of his childhood passion to see the red flags. He was obsessed, and she should never had fed that obsession.
“I trust that we all know not to mention this conversation to Hank until he arrives here?” Janet said lightly.
Both men nodded, none of them happy at the situation.
“Janet, one last thing.” Cross cleared his throat, “No more Pym Particles. Don’t let him near the stuff. Not until we figure out what it’s doing to him.”
Janet’s eyes dropped to the floor. He had taken to storing several samples in his belt. His love for his new toy, his life’s work manifested, was very real. Very strong. It would not be a pleasant conversation when he returned. If he returned. But, she owed her husband the truth, especially if his mind or body was being hurt without him realising. Especially given that she motivated all of this.
“I don’t think that will be easy…”
***
Lewis Zheng yawned softly and clicked his lips as he completed his seventh sweep of the evening. As far of security jobs went, Stark Industries was a pretty decent job for the aging man. Decent pay, many other guards to talk to when bored, and pretty solid insurance to top it all off. The only downside was the boring necessity to wander through empty hallways and floors in the pitch black. In seven years, Lewis had never seen or heard of a single person trying to break into the tower. There were occasionally dumb kids trying to tag their names in graffiti on the glass, but they ran off the moment someone called at them.
Lewis yawned once more and decided it was time for more coffee. After passing a large meeting room used for school tours, the greying man aimed his feet towards the staffroom. Something glinted in his eye as he neared the large set of marble stairs. A light was reflecting on a nearby elevator door. Lewis hesitantly touched the mace on his belt and walked as quietly as he could. He eyed the light on the elevator and turned to look in the opposite direction. Something, or someone, was huddled by a thick security door. Very faintly, Lewis could hear frustrated muttering and cursing. With a swift movement of the arms, a flashlight was pointed at the security door, as well as can of mace.
“Ah, fuck! Turn that off! Christ!”
Lewis lowered it, his jaw easing into a look of a shock. Tony Stark. The head of the company that had not stepped foot in the building for almost a year. Lewis squinted his eyes to get a better view of the man. He looked dreadful. His shirt was torn and covered in tiny marks of blood. His skin was pale and clammy, and his hair and beard resembled a dog’s. Without the painful light cutting into his eyes, the billionaire managed to blink several times and look at Lewis.
“Luke!”
“Lewis.” He corrected, making Tony chuckle awkwardly.
His hands were struck to something. Lewis quickly turned his light to it. A security card reader was ripped open, and Tony’s fingers were interwoven with many of the cables and circuits. The man chuckled awkwardly once more.
“Lewis. I, uh, forgot my card.”
Lewis immediately aimed his mace towards the man’s eyes, much to his annoyance.
“Stay right there.” He instructed as he reached for his radio.
“It’s me, you idiot.” Tony hissed, “I own this building.”
“Why are you trying to break into it?”
“Did…Did you not hear me? I don’t have my fucking card.”
“Wait ‘til tomorrow?” Lewis suggested with a look of severe distrust.
“I’m pressed for time.” Tony grinned, “Look, I need to get into the storage bay. You’re Lewis Zheng. I hired you, like, five years ago? Maybe more?” Lewis was still going for his radio, “The day that you applied, you spilled your soda all over Obadiah Stane’s new suit. It was hilarious. I hired you on the spot.”
Lewis froze. Aside from the insulting poor recollection of his name and the length of his employment, the story was accurate. Most people would have been screamed out of the building for pouring soda on the head of Stane International’s founder. Stark had thought it made his week. Slowly, Lewis lowered his flashlight. Tony grinned and, biting his tongue, turned back to the broken panel. Before Lewis could say anything, he yanked at something and the door gave a thick click.
“I’ll fix it before I leave.” Tony slurred and he snuck through the now opened door.
Lewis was quick to follow the bizarre man. The Stark Industries storage bay was often nicknamed ‘the Tip’ by many in the company. It was the place where failed or unlucrative projects or inventions came to die. Many were stored in crates of different shapes and materials. There were even two shipping containers in the middle of the room. Yet, most things were laid bare with a small amount of tape or clothe covering them. A bundle of notes was sandwiched between the back of Tony’s pants and his back. They had been taken from his dusty office before venturing down to the ground floor. Before Lewis could inquire as to what his was actually doing at three a.m., Tony withdrew the notes and held his small torch to them.
“God.” He whispered as he walked down the steel steps, “I leave for a small…We are not switch to silicone based...What the…More expensive in the long run. Harder to import, though.” He suddenly looked up at Lewis, “Got a pen? You can be my assistant for tonight.”
Tony rarely spoke in complete sentences for the rest of the evening. In fact, he resembled several of the unhinged homeless men under the bridge that would mutter about the end times. For many hours, he was craned over various crates to write upon the reports and project projections that he had collected. Lewis could barely understand what he was saying. They were sporadic, harsh mutters about terms Lewis did not understand. He was clearly drunk or on something else. His eyes were glassy and seemed to lack the ability to stay still. His sweating never ceased, either. Yet, he was able to write many notes on each sheet of paper. Some were decorated with corrections or suggestions, others with a simple ‘Can it’.
After handing the papers to Lewis, Stark grimaced as he stretched and cracked several joints in his back. Without a word, he walked to the Tip’s office space to collect something. His muttering grew loud, making Lewis somewhat uncomfortable as he stood awkwardly in the poorly lit room. Stark eventually returned with a large folder, one that he was skimming through as if it were a magazine.
“Looking for anything in particular, sir?” Lewis asked as Tony began to look around the room.
“Hmm? Oh. No, just reading…”
Tony’s unfocussed eyes eventually hardened, and a strange glint blossomed within them. He strolled through the bay, looking for something in particular. Whenever Lewis would try to ask what he was looking for, Tony simply shushed him and continued flashing his torch to the stamps on each crate. He was looking for something reasonably big. The hunt continued for several moments until the silence was broken by a pleased ‘huh!’. Lewis ran towards Tony as he stared happily at a large wooden crate. It was one of the older inhabitants of the Tip, having joined just after Lewis did. It was rectangular and big, almost as big as a small car. It looked heavy, too. Tony noticed this as well. He hastily wrote something into the folder before throwing it at Lewis to catch.
“Do we still have that van in the garage? Need to take something home.”
“Sir? It’s almost six in the morn-”
“Need forklift keys, too.” Tony muttered as he hastily walked to the office area once more.
Lewis said nothing. There was nothing that he could say. His employer was too lost in his own mind to even understand any points that Lewis offered. The security guard just sighed as he slowly began to follow in Stark’s direction. He prayed that he was sober enough to drive a forklift. He didn’t want to be fired for needing to pull Stark away from the wheel.
***
Fury had spent thirty years in a business where many strange and equally frustrating things occurred often. People died under his watch. Missions failed catastrophically. Information was proven wrong. People were abandoned or let down. Yet, as he stood in the vacated library, he could help but think he was being treated to a foul joke of some kind. Before him stood over a dozen men and women, each with rather nasty bruises to the head or chest. These were only half of those that were stationed at the storage facility. The others were being treated in a hospital for the rather shocking snaps in their ankles and lower legs. Given how medicated they were, Fury had thought it pointless to even try and get a report from them until their surgeries had finished and their need for medication eased.
“Please excuse,” Fury touched his chest, “But boy, what the hell are you saying? English. Please.”
The man cleared his throat and shared a nervous look with the two women beside him.
“It’s…It’s like I said in the report, sir. We were told to reposition ourselves in the event of an upcoming attack on the site. We ran out, heard screaming and gunfire, ran back in.” He cleared his dry throat again and winced at the sting it caused, “We thought it was a teleporter. Judging by the blue suit, we originally thought it was Nightcrawler of the X-Men. It was not. He shrunk, not teleported, sir. We tried to assist when several of us were attacked from behind. It was Steve Rogers, sir.”
Fury eyed the panting man closely. Sweat was dripping down his swollen face, but he showed no other signs of lying or even concealing parts of the story. The others looked confident in his telling of the tale, as well. Fury’s jaw tightened as something in his chest gave an unruly turn.
“I want every single one of you back for debriefing.”
They straightened and nodded. A moment later, the line of operatives broke and swiftly made their way to the series of cars parked out front. Fury shook his head in disbelief. Rogers was becoming a sharper pain in his rear than he had ever imagined. Perhaps, he should’ve taken his running incident even more seriously. Perhaps, he had been too lean on America’s favourite soldier. Had it been anyone else, they probably would have been fitted with an ankle monitor and had guards stationed at their doors and windows.
“We’ve run a complete audit.”
Fury turned to a brunette woman of average build with a sharp nose standing in front of him. His assistant, Maria Hill. ‘Assistant’ was the unofficial nickname for the woman. Her hands were far dirtier than the men and women that filed Fury’s paperwork. No one rose far in S.H.I.E.L.D. without having committing actions that often led to sleepless nights. Another nickname was ‘Fury’s small shadow’, given how often the much shorter woman stood behind him. Hill offered her superior a summary of the assessment team’s findings, one which he immediately began to idly read.
“The only thing missing is the shield.”
“Of course.” Fury sighed, “Any idea of the shrinking man?”
“No, but their accomplice used a very familiar method of breaking into the systems.”
Before Fury could ask, Maria was holding a book for him to take. The cover showed a handsome man in red sunglass winking as he stroked a computer monitor in what Fury assumed was meant to be a seductive manner. He snorted before swapping the report for the book.
“Stark knows how to write?”
“Certain public and private agencies had petitioned to have this book made illegal.” Maria explained, a faint trace of humour in her tone, “Like everything else about Stark, beneath all of the bluster, it does have merit. It actually shows you how to break into systems. He goes through countless examples, too. How he hasn’t been taken to court over it…”
“He probably just paid his old victims off.” Fury guessed, “Dumbass. So, someone read his book and helped a tiny man and Captain America steal back his shield? Any leads?”
“We’re using security cameras along the street and from the businesses around us to work out what their direction was. Seeing as they went through the sewer line, we’re widening our search to follow the manholes that they could’ve escaped through. It may take a while, but we’ll close in.”
“Make it less than a while.” Fury instructed and she nodded.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, his eye twitched and a small smile formed.
“Hill, get me all of the stuff on the animal attacks.”
“That’s no longer our-”
“Call it a hunch.” He smiled, “Get me everything there is on the attacks. I have a feeling if we find the ones responsible, we’ll find Cap a hell of a lot quicker.”
***
The vicious sound of chattering made Peter jump off of the smoky scented bed. Upon a scarred bedstand was a crab. A large, orange crab that was the size of Peter’s expanded hand. The crab’s claws were raised proudly above its head as it clicked them loudly near Peter’s ear. Before the teen could say or do anything, the crab awkwardly turned. It took some time, due to its legs, but it eventually showed Peter its back. A glowing blue analogue clock was ticking upon shell, as if it were a living tattoo. It was half past five. The time that Peter had mentioned that he needed to be awake in order to sneak back home.
“Um. T-thanks?” Peter tried.
The crab slowly turned and awkwardly lowered its disk-shaped head. With two final clicks, it bounced off the bedstand and scampered off under Peter’s door. The teen blinked twice. With a loud yawn, he rose to his feet and stretched. He hated waking up, especially when he was running on only four hours sleep. Still, his aunt would flay him alive for being out of the house when murders were happening. Murders that he was trying to stop, but he doubted May would care. If anything, that’d simply make the fragile woman try to chain him to the floor.
He peered into the dark room to look for his clothes. The rooms in the Sanctum Sanctorum were strange. For starters, they appeared to hum and vibrate under Peter’s feet. The wooden floors and dark green walls had a very Victorian Age feeling to them. The walls of Peter’s room were lined with colourful tapestries and shawls that depicted beautiful yet bizarre animals. The closest was full of clothes that were certainly not from this century, and the boots at the bottom smelled like rotten flesh. The rug was skeletal, with many chunks having been feasted upon by insects. Yet, the bed was cosy, even if it smelled like a tobacco pipe.
Having found the hoodie and pants that acted as his hero attire, the teen silently crept out of the door. The seemingly endless corridor of doors was empty. The others were no doubt still sleeping. Peter’s senses were sharp since his genetics were rewritten. He could sense things without seeing or hearing them. He could see, hear, smell and taste in a much sharper spectrum than he had his entire life beforehand. Yet, he suffered one glaring weakness to such advantages. He was still a teenager that hated being awake. In his groggy and half-awake state, he didn’t pay attention to the tensing of his neck. Nor did he prevent himself from running into a large object. A moving object. He stepped back, rubbed his eyes, and blinked. His cheeks were red almost immediately.
“S-sorry, Cap.”
“Steve.” The man said with a simple smile, “Running back home?”
Peter flushed with embarrassment before giving a weak nod. He’d love to stay and talk strategies with Captain America. He’d adore the chance to talk Strange into teaching him magic. He’d very much enjoy the chance to be around Jennifer more, in either of her forms. His cheeks reddened as he quickly thought about anything other than Jen.
“My aunt will kill me.” Peter explained flatly, “She’s…overprotective.”
His description gave Steve a small laugh, confusing Peter.
“Can’t imagine why.” His laughter soon eased, “Does she know?” Steve asked with some concern.
“Oh, no. No. She’d definitely kill me.” Peter’s eyes had become wide with terror, “It’s why I kinda need to sneak out and stuff. Do patrols at night. I don’t mind it.” He quickly added, “It’s when most people are being creeps or trying to steal stuff.”
“How old are you?”
Peter quickly became self-conscious. Several silent moments passed until he answered in a careful tone.
“Seventeen.”
“And you’re out fighting crime?” Steve asked, his look of trepidation only deepening into his forehead.
“Well, why not?” Peter said with a shrug, “I mean, I can punch a hole in a car. A car that I can stop with my bare hands. I can leap metres into the air. I’m fast.” He paused as he sleepily tried to remember what else he could do, “I can sense things…I think. Look, no one else can do what I can. Why shouldn’t I use that to help others that can’t do any of that stuff?” He held his fist to his mouth, cleared his throat and continued in a deeper, older voice, “With great power there must also come great responsibility.” His eyes creased and he looked downwards, “That’s what I was taught, anyway.”
When he looked up, he saw a sincere smile on Steve’s face. One that looked almost sad, in a way. For Steve, the sentiment was a welcomed relief. Perhaps, people in this country weren’t as cynical as he had begun to fear.
“You remind me of someone I grew up with. A lot. You’re a good kid, Peter.” The teen flushed again, and his heart thudded quickly in his chest, “Never lose that spirit of…a tear or whatever Thor called it.” They both laughed softly, “You should get back home.”
The thought of the conversation wrapping up made Peter’s chest spasm slightly. Before he could stop himself, the sudden need to say one last thing overcame him. He didn’t know when he would be returning, and it was not every day that one met an icon such as Steve Rogers. Especially when you were someone as unremarkable and as socially weird as Peter was.
“I-I just…” He sighed, “It’s such…It’s really cool to meet you. Like, a lot.”
Steve looked rather abashed for several seconds. Instead of shying away or deflecting, the large man simply held out his hand to Peter.
“It’s been cool to meet you, too.”
Peter’s heart was beating faster than it ever had, including any near death experiences. It was no trick, either. With an arm weighing as much as a train, Peter managed to shake Captain America’s powerful hand. It was the single most glorious moment of his young life.
“Take care, Spider-Man.”
Peter remained in his place as Steve resumed his journey elsewhere. Peter practically had to pinch himself. That had just happened. This wasn’t an illusion or dream. He had met sorcerers, gods and idols, and he had just shaken Captain America’s hand. A wide grin formed and when he walked, he walked with a pleasant sway to his gangly legs.
The Sanctum was difficult to navigate. Despite trying to commit the pathway to memory before sleeping, the rooms and corridors seemed completely reorganised. Doors did not lead to the hallways that they had originally shown. Corners were now non-existent. It all made Peter rather Confused and claustrophobic. Eventually, he attempted to retrace his steps in the hope of finding Steve again, yet that only led to another endless corridor. At this rate, Peter was content just to find a window of some kind. His hands were on his hips as he eyed which of the twelve doors to go through. Thankfully, one of them opened. He quickly ran towards it but almost crashed into whoever was coming out. A surprised yelp met a pained groan.
“What the heck?” Jen asked as she looked around.
Peter was wincing as he touched his forehead. His tense neck was eased as the sense of danger passed. As sleepy as he once was, the impact on his head certainly woke him up. He was surprised to see Jen standing there, given it wasn’t even six a.m. yet. Clearly, the house was not full of deep sleepers. She was pale and skinny again, and was wrapped in a robe that was clearly from the nineteen thirties, if not earlier. As she saw Peter’s reddened head, worry coaxed her from her own sleepy state.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you.” She said apologetically.
“I, uh, ran into you.” Peter shrugged, trying to ignore the swelling bruise.
The pair settled into an awkward silence as Jen smiled in an uncomfortable fashion and Peter simply looked in any direction other than Jen. At least she wasn’t MJ. MJ had developed a habit of punching him in the stomach whenever he tried to avoid eye contact.
“So,” Jen began, swaying slightly, “You’re younger than you sound.”
A pang of guilt hit Peter. Did she think he had lied to her? He had never actually said his age, nor did he do anything would need it. It was not like they went to a bar or bought adult videos or something. They had simply tracked some vampires and she had, at one point, started to think he was older than he was. It wasn’t his fault that he was seventeen. He couldn’t change when he was born. He was who he was. A heated, tense feeling tightened in his gut. There was always one issue or anyone that hindered his ability to be near girls, whether it be romantically or simply socially. Whether it was his skinniness, his lack of social ideas, his lack of money, or his younger age. Peter suddenly felt embarrassed heat rise up his spine as he thought on the last one.
“Yeah.” Said Peter in a dry voice, “Not that young…Seventeen.” He mumbled as he leaned on the wall.
His attempt to look cool and mature simply amused Jen a great deal. She found the attempt rather cute in its own way, not that she read much further into it. She was a lawyer and a smart woman. As she hastily thought on it, Jen had just not been around men a lot in her life. Well, outside of classes and work. Her threshold for what constituted an attractive male was simply lower than the average woman’s, but that would change as she continued her social exercises. In fact, Jen suddenly decided that Peter’s voice wasn’t even attractive anymore. It was just…deeper than expected. The fact that he could probably lift a car was simply…neither attractive or unattractive. Jen mentally sighed. Perhaps speed-dating was an option, or even just speed-friending, if that existed.
“I’m taller than you like this.” He said randomly, drawing her away from her panic induced self-assessment.
Jen frowned and chewed her lip in annoyance. She wasn’t that short. For a woman, she was actually quite tall. It just didn’t help that she was surrounded by gods, super soldiers and whatever Peter was. Of course she looked tiny amongst them. Anyone would. There was no need to mock her for it.
“I can change that if you want?” Jen said with an amused glare.
Peter laughed and shrugged a little. He didn’t exactly mind what form she took. They were very similar, minus the obvious colour and muscle differences. Jen’s larger form just sharpened her face and removed any baby fat that her cheeks had. Her jawline was also more pronounced and her eyes were more intense with a darker shade of brown. Aside from that, and certain features being larger, Peter found her to be mostly the same. She did appear less confident, however. Even as Peter looked at her now, she was twitching her mouth often and her fingertips kept tapping her thigh. Her intense stares were now uncertain frowns, much like Peter’s.
“I could probably fight you either way.” He said in a matter-of-factly tone as if he were presenting in front of his class.
Jen crossed her arms and shifted on her feet. He was young, but certainly confident for someone that was almost eaten by vampires. Especially for someone so skinny, as well. Hell, even in this form, Jen thought she could knock him over despite being half a head taller than her.
“Um, no.” Jen said as she thought over her words carefully as to not offend the young man, “You’re strong. I grant you that. But, ah,” She chuckled shyly, “You’re not green level strong.”
Peter’s sense of competition resurfaced and he threw his head back in mock offense.
“I saved your butt.”
“That doesn’t…That’s doesn’t you’re stronger than me.”
“Turn green.”
It was the casual way that Peter said it that threw Jen off. She spluttered and mumbled several hasty things about it ‘not being the right time’ and how one should ‘use powers so randomly’. Peter just waved her off.
“Where’s your sense of fun?”
“Fun?” Her eyebrows raised, “I’m fun. I’m more fun than you.”
“You own a pug.”
“Leave the pug out of this!” She hissed before blushing a deep red, “I mean, that’s not relevant. I own the entirety of Star Trek and Star Wars on cassette. I go on walks every day. I even experiment with new drinks every time I go out,” That was not often, “I’ve been told my ‘toaster’ joke kills it many times. I know piano. Don’t tell me, I’m not fun.”
Peter thought on each of the criteria that she had used as her defence. Much to her annoyance, he simply said ‘uh’. Her scowl was practically dangerous.
“I have both domestic and international versions of Blade Runner. Under my bed, but still. I know how to synthesise webs,” He tapped his wrist, “I am almost head of my school’s A.V. club, and, not to brag, have my own supervillain team that formed against me.”
“What?” Jen asked immediately.
She didn’t sound jealous or impressed. She seemed very concerned, quickly making Peter regret the last gloat. His mouth would be the end of him.
“Well, just…I’ve been doing this for a year.” He mumbled, “You meet people. Some people meet other people. And they form the Sinister Six to kill you.”
Jen’s brows rose again in disbelief and horror.
“They were organised enough to name themselves?”
“Oh yeah.” Peter grinned, “It was a whole thing about…three months ago. I annoyed enough of them for long enough that they formed a club. Who was it again…Oh, that’s right. Hobgoblin, Electro, Scorpion, Rhino, Shriek and…” He paused, suddenly looking rather upset over something, “Ah, someone called ‘Black Cat’. Fun times.” He quickly finished.
Jen didn’t pry. She had worked in a courthouse long enough to know when someone was being evasive due to hurt feelings. A part of her felt bad for him. Not knowing how to actually comfort him, Jen merely nodded with a strained expression.
“Are they in jail?”
“Ah…I think Shriek and Rhino are. The Sinister Six kinda gave up after their fourth failed attempt at killing me in a week.” Jen’s eye twitched, “They argued, like, heaps. It wasn’t hard to fight them. Rhino and Electro had major issues with Hobgoblin issues orders. Every battle was the same. I’d web my way to a crime scene. I’d be ambushed. I’d avoid being stabbed or bombed or pumped. Then, after about five minutes, someone would do something unplanned. That would trigger a massive fight. I would then start webbing them up.” He shrugged and smiled in a sweet fashion, “Wasn’t the worst month, really. Do you have any villains?”
“Villains?”
“Villains.” Peter nodded enthusiastically.
“N-no. I just…beat up murderers and thieves and guys that try to jump women.”
Peter did his best not to sound too disappointed. He smiled and nodded.
“Cool. That’s…cool.”
Another silence formed. It was one silence too many. With a shy chuckle, Peter rubbed his hands together and pulled himself away from the wall.
“Should, um, get ready to go back.”
“Yeah, of course.” Jen said swiftly, “Your aunt.”
“My aunt.” He confirmed with an annoyed exhale.
Without any more hesitation, he clicked his tongue and pointed to the door behind her.
“Did that room have a window? I have no idea how to get out of this place.”
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope everyone had a great weekend! Thanks for reading this far in, and I really hope you’re enjoying it.
Now that we have the team together, minus Janet (for now), the story will quickly start to build up on them coming together as an actual team. Next chapter will focus on Varnae’s intentions and will introduce some other comic book vampires. It will also expand on Doctor Strange and Thor’s relationship, Janet confronting Hank, and Tony working on his suit.
If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or a comment. It’s been really fantastic to see such interest in the story. Otherwise, I hope everyone has a great week!
Fact of the chapter: If hungry enough, a wolf will travel between 10 and 30 miles per day.
Also, I’ve started my third X-Men fic. If you’re interested in the Fox X-Men prequels and want to see some other comic book X-Men thrown in, they might be worth tossing a look at.
Chapter 6: The Children of Varnae
Chapter Text
Janet stared vacantly at the steel table, only idly aware that a blurry reflection of herself was staring back at her. It was deep into the night, so much so that it was nearing the very early morning. Hank had not contacted her. In fact, Hank had not made any indication that he was still alive. Her anxiety had flared for many hours, but now all Janet could feel was a soft fear slowly walking in circles in her stomach. Hank wasn’t a fighter. He was no Captain America. He had even turned down her invitations to join self-defence classes. While he had done surprisingly well when stealing the shield, he was hardly a soldier himself. A beast could be feasting on his entrails as Janet held her tea mug. A mutant could have severed his head. A terrorist could be using his body to hide explosives. These, along with hundreds of other scenarios, had been prickling her mind, forbidding her so sleep. She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to be awake when he returned. He could be bleeding or severely injured.
Hot shame made Janet exhale loudly as she sat motionless at the desk. She had let this go too far, and now Hank was in danger. All for the damn Pym Particles. There were many times that she could have stopped this from escalating, yet she had not acted during any of them. She was just as much as a fool as Hank, in that regard. Her fingers flexed against her full mug. She had no appetite nor had she any desire to actually drink it. She had made it as an excuse to do something other than mope. It was a distraction that could only offer her relief for less than five minutes. She had resumed sitting on her stool for many hours, just as she had for hours beforehand.
“Christ!”
As she spun around, her mug crashed to the tiled floor and stained it with a thinly brown liquid. Hank was rolling on the ground with a horrifyingly yellow glow to his skin. His cheeks and the leather padding of his suit were marked with strange yellow symbols that were slowly fading into thin air. None of them held any meaning to Janet. Hank’s pants soon turned silent as he stared at Janet. Before either of them said anything, Janet’s arms were around his shoulders. He let out a soft laugh as he leaned into her chest, his cheek resting on her shoulder. His peace was ruined as she abruptly threw him off and crawled backwards, staring at him as if he had grown a third arm.
“What the hell was…How are you here?” She questioned.
Hank chuckled and stared into the air as he thought of how best to answer such a question.
“I need to preface this by saying I’m not on drugs.”
Janet was silent as her husband eagerly recounted his adventure with Captain America and their joining of a battle with vampires. She resisted the urge to ask many questions about Tony Stark’s apparent appearance in all of this, as well as the presence of a Nordic god. Yet, the more than he continued, the more discomfort that Janet experienced. The conclusion of a wizard telling the group of an ancient vampire ape from Atlantis made her exhale silently. Had her husband not appeared out of thin air, she would have asked to take him to a hospital. Yet, fortunately for Hank, Janet couldn’t explain the runes that had shot Hank into their house lab. It was his only saving grace. Hank’s smile was wide as he spoke, his fingers strumming against the helmet that lay upon his lap.
By the end of it all, Janet frankly didn’t know what to say. Captain America was still alive, her husband had discovered Pym Particles, and there were apparently vampires and wizards in the world. A situation that they had both found themselves thrust deeply into. If everything that he had said was true, he was certainly calm about it all. It was not every day that someone fights against supernatural creatures, yet Hank was simply looking focused and determined. This was the man that panicked before business meetings. He was strangely soothed and at peace, as if a part of him deeply enjoyed the chaos around him. The stillness of his voice and the grin on his lips were so misplaced that it only made Janet frown at him.
“I’m not drugged or concussed or anything.” Hank added as he slowly picked himself up, “But we need to produce as many particles as we can.”
Janet’s mouth gaped a little as she registered his comment. That was his immediate response to everything?
“About that.” She cleared her throat as Hank turned to her, “I…would like…to stop making that formula. For now.”
Hank’s face dropped into a calculating gaze as he stared at his wife. Janet didn’t like the intensity of the stare. In fact, she found herself taking a small step back before continuing.
“We’ve done some tests on your blood.” Hank immediately bit his lip and looked away hotly, “Hank, it’s doing something to you. Your metabolism is going haywire. We have no idea what this stuff does to brain function, your organs. We’ve done one set of tests. We need more.”
“Jan, I’ve been fine. I’v-”
“Don’t start.” Janet snapped, making Hank blink twice, “You’ve been yelling at me for the first time in our entire relationship. You can barely think of anything to do that isn’t related to the damn particles. You’re ridiculously confident in fighting vampires,” She quickly chose to not question if he was lying or not about them, “for someone who’s never hit a person in his life.”
“That’s why I need it.” Hank said stubbornly, looking at her as if she was missing a key part of formula, “Jan, you weren’t there. There are hundreds of these things. Their leader screwed a living god before I arrived. They’re probably hunting me right now. We need to be prepared. We need to be ready. This,” He thrust a vile of a thick red chemical forwards, “This evens the playing field. This…This means I can protect you.”
His voice had broken slightly and Janet’s eyes weakened into a sympathetic, almost pitying look. It was a look that Hank hated, for some unknown reason. A look that sent a very hot feeling down his back.
“You can’t protect me if you’re dead.”
The comment made Hank shake his head irritably and rub his eyes. She was being an idiot. Paranoid. He had fought off vampires, and that was only the second usage of the substance. Imagine what could be done with more tests in the field. The particles had endless potential, all of which was threatened by insecurity. A very frustrated Hank turned back to his wife.
“I’m doing this for us.”
“Us?” Janet did her best not to scoff softly, “First, this was about your dream research. Then, it was about saving people. Now, it’s about protecting me.”
“It isn’t exclusive.” Hank shot back, “All of them are true, Jan. Look, regardless of anything, we’re still in danger. I can’t protect you without this. Please, you need to understand. Let me-”
“Just let me some damn tests.” Janet looked at her husband in miserable disbelief, “You’re addicting like an addict. You’re scrambling for reasons not to do tests.” A finger was pointed at his chin, “I think you know something’s wrong and you don’t want the confirmation. Why else are you so against tests that run less than an hour?”
“It’s a waste of an hour. This is a waste of a conversation. They’re probably circling us, Jan! We need to-”
“If they’re real, they’ll be feasting on a corpse.” Janet rebuked, “Christ, Hank. Just for a few days. Stop taking it and let me run some brain scans. Some tests on your organs. Some-”
“I’m fine!” He shouted, his eyes wide with utter frustration, “You keep acting like I’m a lunatic. I’m trying to help people, you especially. I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t hit you. I haven’t…turned blue. Stop acting like I’m crazy for wanting to help you. It hurts.”
Janet eyed him, her lip almost quivering. Hank’s eyes were frantically scanning every part of her, as if examining what part of her that he wanted to eat first. She didn’t back down, however. His eyes were bloodshot, his body was visibly shaking, and his shouting had returned. There was something wrong, and she wouldn’t abandon her husband to it. She loved him too much to let him continue down this path.
“It hurts me when the man that I love barely talks to me when it’s not about the Pym Particles.” She said with a barely controlled voice, “It hurts me when the man that I married…When the man that I married snaps whenever I tell him I’m worried about him. It hurts me seeing him look sick. Because you do, Hank. You look sick.” She spat, “I love you. I’ve loved you since we were in school. I’ve walked with you through college, when we built the company. I even stood next to you for years when the affair rumours sprung up. Every second day people, including my parents, asked if I thought you were fucking other women. And every single time I defended you. Because I know you’re a good man. I fell in love with a good man.” She cleared her throbbing throat before continuing, “I won’t stand next to you while you destroy yourself. I’m not letting you do this. You either give me that fucking vial,” she snapped viciously, “or I’ll take it.”
Hank was very still for many moments. For the first time since he had reappeared, his eyes were completely focussed also. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not instantly. Janet had never yelled at him, nor had she ever threatened him. This was not what he had expected when he imagined telling Janet of his day. In fact, he had thought his actions would have redeemed the particles in Janet’s eyes.
He licked his dry lips.
“Jan, look, I-”
“Now.” She warned.
Her hand was extended. There was no sympathy in her eyes, just a sharp warning. Hank’s thumb stroked the vial, almost feeling like running with it. His eyes dropped to examine it closely. It was just a serum. That was all. Serums could be perfected. Yet, did it need to be? It already worked. Hank felt no side effects. The temptation to argue was resurfacing as he continued to stare at his life’s work. A work that could defeat the horrifying monsters that were threatening Janet. A woman that he loved with his very soul. A woman that was now on the edge of tears, asking him for a simple serum. It felt heavy in his hand, almost too heavy to throw or move. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Before he could think any further, he had thrown something.
“Thank you.” He heard.
As he opened his eyes, he saw Janet looking rather scornful at the vial in her palm. Hank hated that she was holding it. She was going to use it or waste it. Before he could say anything, Janet continued.
“I want every single vial that you made.”
Hank bit back a remark. His desire to challenge her mounted considerably. In fact, it was only due to the equally stern and aggressive look that she was giving him that he didn’t. A small, faded voice in the back of his head attempted to soothingly remind him that it was for the best. That Janet was doing this out of love and scientific practice. The voice was barely heard over the feral feeling in his chest. Janet was less than a metre away as he opened two storage fridges. Her hands were open before he could so much as blink. With less care than Hank would have liked, she placed vial after vial of the cherry substance in her lab coat.
“Is that all of them?” She sniffed.
“Yes.” Responded Hank in an emotionless voice.
Janet nodded several times and did her best to reign in her emotions. He had done what she asked. He wasn’t completely unreasonable and he could still listen to her. Janet found considerable peace in that fact and she cleared her raw throat again.
“Get changed. We’re going to see Howl.” Before Hank could inquire, “I want brain scans.”
“Jan, I’m not screwed u-”
“Hank, this is standard procedure, and you know it. Stop acting like a child.” She hissed, making Hank flush red with agitation.
He had already given her the vials. His body would process the particles within a matter of hours, so what was the point in testing for something that wasn’t permanent? He didn’t argue with her, however. She was too on edge for that, and Hank didn’t want to press the issue further. Nothing good would come of it. So, he chose to nod dully and walk towards the spare clothes that he kept in their office. As he did so, he was quick to gauge where Janet was. She was nowhere in view. Hank’s heart bounced. As he pulled off the suit, his thumbs traced one of his gloves. A small, red vial slipped out and he hastily shoved it over the top of one of his old textbooks. Once hidden from view, Hank sighed with relief. He could continue running tests. Besides, if they were to be attacked, it would be best to have something to protect them with. Even if Janet couldn’t understand, it was for the best. He could protect them.
Janet finished wiping her eyes and cleared her throat. Hank couldn’t see her like this. He would press on the weakness. The thought made her close her eyes. Press her weakness. She needed to fix this mess and quickly. If vampires were real, Hank needed to be healthy and able minded. They both needed to be. God, what had they gotten themselves into? Janet began to idly look around their workstation, looking for the car keys when she saw something nestled by one of the synthesising machines. Notes. Scattered writing on pale paper. Her eyes scanned her surroundings quickly. She was alone. Hank was still changing. With curious hands, she grabbed the written formulas and squinted. It was the last series of variations for the Pym Particle. She sighed and almost threw them out immediately. It would have been foolish to do so, of course. They may need to understand what Hank had inserted into himself and how to undo it or fix it. Fix it. Janet chewed on her cheek for a moment as she scanned the document. Footsteps echoed through the room. Janet swiftly hid the paper in her coat and stared blankly at Hank. He gave her an emotionless stare.
“Let’s go to Howl, then.” He sighed.
***
For Steve, the Sanctum Sanctorum was something out of a story that his mother would tell him before bed. The majestic rugs seemed to change each time that he entered or left a room or hallway. The rusted and dirty lights switched on whenever he neared them. There was a strange sense of endlessness to the place. Steve couldn’t quite describe or understand it. Whenever he peered outwards, it was though the room or hallway appeared to never end. A daunting feeling would overcome the soldier, yet as soon as he walked forwards, the illusion shattered swiftly. He would be out of the door within mere seconds.
Another thing that surprised Steve was the noticeable lack of Strange. The sorcerer had only appeared once and that was during their first introduction. The man simply couldn’t be found in any of the dozens of rooms. Many were locked, but he doubted that Strange was rude enough to ignore a knock at the door. In fact, it was getting to the point where Steve honestly thought that the man had left completely without telling anyone. It was only on the fifth marathon throughout the sanctum that Steve had located the man. Behind an ajar door marked with engravings of Chinese beasts, voices were muttering. As Steve stepped closer, the voices turned harsh and aggressive. Steve considered leaving the room be, yet he didn’t want to miss meeting his host again. He didn’t know when the next time that he would come across Strange would be.
As he pushed the creaking door open, the voices grew. It was a small study area, with many dusty desks and small collections of books upon them. The walls were lined with tapestries of a thick green and a brilliant gold. In the centre of the room was a strange stone stand with a silver bowl on top. Four bronze lion-like creatures with wings poured water into it from their open mouths. Beside the bizarre ornament stood two very tall people.
“We’re both failures in that regard, then.” Drawled Strange in a monotonous voice.
Thor stood with his mighty arms crossed. He was no longer wearing his armour, but rather a beautiful grey robe with runes and figures decorated into the weaving. Where he got such a piece of clothing was beyond Steve’s guess. The god eyed Strange with a mixed expression, one that almost looked like judgement or pity laced with mild distain. Strange was the first to notice Steve, but Thor took a moment longer to continue his gaze at the sorcerer. Eventually, he, too, turned to Steve. Unlike Strange, the large man stepped away and appeared to be walking towards the newcomer. He was not. It became evident that the Nordic mountain was simply making his way from the clearly dismal conversation that he had taken part in.
“You look well.” He greeted to Steve in his baritone voice, “You fought well against Varnae.”
“So did you.” Steve’s lip twitched into a small smile, “I wasn’t trying to fight seven or eight at once.”
Thor looked humoured for a moment, but it quickly turned to sadness. His ocean blue eyes lowered, and he made a strange noise at the back of his throat.
“A noble battle that ended in disgrace.” Steve heard the god mutter.
Before anything further could be said, Thor had walked a fair way down the corridor, murmuring something about ‘Aesir tomes’. Steve did not mind entirely. His enigmatic host was still present for once. Strange became aware of the man’s eyes on him. He quickly sighed as he attempted to become overly invested in the scroll on the desk before him.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” Smiled Steve.
Strange gave him a chastising look before finally leaning away from his desk. His statue was hunched as if he were lifting something heavy on his shoulders. When standing straight, the man must have almost as tall as Thor. His handlebar moustache creased as Strange tilted his head slightly.
“I’ve been busy. I’m not used to guests.” He eventually added with an uncomfortable look.
“You seem to know Thor?” Steve observed.
An annoyed expression crawled over Strange’s face. He seemed to mutter something under his breath before being able to calm himself. Steve already regretted asking such a question.
“I met him when he first arrived here. He…helped me.” He added quickly, his face stony, “He wasn’t a guest here, though. No one’s been in this halls for some time.”
“Not even other sorcerers?”
“No.” Strange said softly, “No even other sorcerers.”
“Because of Va-”
“How did you survive?” Strange cut in with careful curiosity, “You don’t smell of a necromancy, nor the Soul Gem. I must admit, I am curious.”
Steve blushed slightly and scratched the back of his arm.
“Plane crashed into the artic. Got frozen but the serum was enough to keep me alive. Here I am.”
The simplicity of the story seemed to amuse Strange a tad. His beady eyes warmed slightly and the hunch to his back straightened slightly.
“Here you are. I’ve dealt with…a lot of weird things in my life. Seeing Captain America alive honestly, somehow, still takes a place in the top five.”
“I get that a lot.” Steve admitted, abashed, “Thank you, again.” Strange frowned and Steve quickly gestured around them, “For housing me. It’s not every day that vampires and the government want me at the same time.”
A snort left the sorcerer. A sense of dark humour returned to his features and he seemed to scowl at something. The expression sent many lines across Strange’s already worn face. It left Steve questioning just how old Strange actually was. He couldn’t have been much older than he was, but there were many deep grooves to his face and forehead. The hairs behind his temples were ashen white. His eyes garnered the most questions. They looked tired and withered, much like the elderly men that Steve had seen during the war. Whatever age Strange was, you could add at least another decade in terms of how old he looked.
“This may not be a sanctuary for long.” Strange said with bitterness, his eyes flickering to the walls and ceiling.
“Then help us. Help me. I’ve never seen anyone like the people that I stood around last night, and I fought H.Y.D.R.A. at its peak. I know you disagree, but you could really be an asset to stop this thing.”
Strange exhaled and rolled his head side to side several times in what Steve guessed was frustration. Steve was very tempted to cut in and just ask what was the matter. His curiosity about other sorcerers was profound, yet his interest as to what exactly happened to them grew larger still. Eventually, Strange’s movements slowed, and sharp eyes dug into the soldier once more.
“Do you live for war?”
“What?”
Steve frowned at such a question. It was almost insulting, given the times that he had grown up and the amount of friends that he had lost on the battlefield. Strange was unperturbed.
“Why rush into a fight that you can’t win?”
“Who says we can’t win?”
“The thousands upon thousands that lay at Varnae’s feet.” Strange’s tone became bitter once more, “Thor meant nothing, and he is easily beyond all of you. You think that you can fight him?” Strange took a step closer, “There are things in this universe that would horrify you. That would make sure that you never slept again. And many of them pale to Varnae.”
A tense moment of challenge was shared between the two men. Neither stood back, neither looked away. All Steve saw in Strange’s eyes was a hollow pain shaped into bitterness. All Strange saw was naïve optimism.
“So, we do nothing?” Steve finally asked, looking disgusted, “Like you said last night. We just sit around?”
“We could throw a dozen nuclear missiles at him. He would open a portal and send them right back. His magic was beyond that of the Sorcerer Supreme.” Strange’s voice became hoarse, almost pleading, “You don’t understand. His breed of vampire is…problematic when trying to kill.”
“Ape vampires?”
“No. He is the first. The Adam to their race. His blood flows through them all. His creations, those that he directly bites and transforms, are what we called ‘High Vampires’. There were only ten last year. The same and only ten throughout history. His first ten. The ones that he created before being thrown off the planet.”
“I take it that you guys couldn’t kill any?”
A sour laugh left the man, and he shook his square head.
“We would have to find them. Once found, we would have to kill their small armies of lesser vampires. Once all dead, the High Vampire would either kill the sorcerer or simply have left before then. There were so few, though, that they were hardly a major issue. We usually had more pressing issues to attend to.” Strange stared downwards, “Brilliant foresight on our part. We always get fixated on lesser issues.”
Steve followed Strange’s line of sight. He was staring intently at his hands and their wired braces. They were shaking wildly and Strange seemed to have considerable trouble getting them to stay still. He soon noticed that Steve was also staring, embarrassing the latter.
“Sorry, I-”
“It’s fine. I’m used to people looking.” He whispered before holding a hand up with a look of contempt, “Nerve damage. Inoperable, even with magic. Some ailments are…too deep for even my skills.”
Steve’s reaction took the man by great surprise. He gave, without much care, a simple shrug.
“So?”
“So?”
Strange looked as if he was about to assault the muscular man in front of him. His lips curled into an unpleasant snarl and he even took a step forwards.
“So?” He repeated, “I can’t even use a pen.”
“My point,” Steve said carefully, “was that you can’t use your hands, but you can do things that people dream of. I look at the things that you do, and I really can’t even understand any of them.” Strange looked away with a slightly uncomfortable expression, “You healed a wound that would have meant anyone else losing a leg. You can send people across the country. That’s incredible.”
Strange had turned his back to the man, his eyes peering into the pool of water between them.
“What do you want, Mr. Rogers?” Strange asked in a low tone.
It was a simple question, but a genuine one. Steve saw no malice or mockery in Strange’s eyes, just unease and distrust. He took a moment to think of the best way to explain to such a cynic. Strange wasn’t without a heart. He had offered them his home, after all. There was an odd sense of courtesy interwoven with the brittle nature of Strange’s personality. While it was possible that Strange honestly didn’t see the difference between kicking Steve out or letting him stay, Steve disagreed with that notion. There had to be some level of humanity to the man, even after whatever had occurred with Varnae.
“I want to help people. It’s pretty much the only thing I’m still good at.” Steve admitted, appearing almost lost as he spoke, “I barely know what half the stations on the television are about, and the city looks horrible these days. But I can still fight to make sure others don’t need to. I can save people from these things.” He leaned closer to the man listening with a guarded expression, “I can help and so can you, Strange. All of us. You clearly have had issues with Varnae before, I’m not going to lighten that. Hell, you can keep that all a secret, anyway. But, surely, between you, me, and the god, and everyone else, we have a chance? Even if we don’t, it’s better to die fighting than sitting around.”
Strange looked up at Steve once more. The soldier’s eyes widened as an immense feeling of cold encased him. For the briefest of moments, Steve felt very alone. Whatever confidence and strength that he had brought into the conversation had faded into a dark tunnel that encased him. Any sense of joy or hope that they could survive against Varnae slipped from Steve’s fingers. A rough, heavy feeling of fear was all that was left to move about in his chest.
It was gone. Steve blinked twice, suddenly aware of where he was. Strange was still in front of him, but was now looking away with a gaunt expression of loathing on his face. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“I thought that once. So did a lot of people that walked these halls.” Slowly, Strange turned to look at Steve with one of the most unsettling looks of pain and hatred that the soldier had ever seen, “Now, I’m the only one left.”
Before Steve could ask anything more, Strange had faded from thin air. The room was silence and cold. The soft sounds of pouring water from the brass beasts was the only thing that Steve could hear aside from his heartbeat. Had Strange placed a spell to his mind? What had made him feel so hollow and alone? It was terrifying. More joy was left being held hostage by H.Y.D.R.A. Steve cleared his throat and quickly made his way from the room, suddenly desiring to be very far away from it. He was also not phased about no longer seeing Strange for a while. The man had foul demons formed by Varnae. Steve was not a fool. He would read between the lines of Strange’s last few comments. He would not press further. Strange would need to come to him in his own time. If they were to survive and work together, they would all need to agree to do so on their own terms.
Steve spent much of the next several hours exploring the fascinating place that was the Sanctum Sanctorum. The eyes of paintings seemed to follow him as he walked down many a dark corridor. Many of the rooms were still locked, yet some allowed him inside. One room astounded him. Despite being in the middle of a brick and wood building within a city, the hexagonal chamber was walled by dozens of windows. Each showed a different landscape and even time of day. An endless desert shone under the evening moon. What looked like a frozen tundra bit and hissed at the glass that contained it. At first, Steve had thought it was some television-type contraption. The thought left him as soon as a brilliant red tiger crept from behind some trees and lunged at Steve only to collide with the glass. Steve stumbled back, his mouth gaped.
“That is not a complicated spell.”
Steve turned to see Thor examining the many pathways with his usual stoic expression. He had clearly given up on trying to find books that were in his language. The god stepped deeper into the hexagonal room. His eyes turned to Steve.
“Perhaps it is for a human.”
“I’m not the human to ask.” Said Steve with a earnest shrug.
The corner of Thor’s mouth seemed to twitch in the shade of a smile.
“Couldn’t find anything to read?” Steve asked.
“There are few texts in this place in my language. None relate to anything useful about this filth.”
“You can’t read English?”
“Can you read Aesir?”
“Fair point.” Steve smiled softly before sighing.
His eyes idly watched roaring oceans dancing under the evening moon from one of the windows. Perhaps Thor would know more than Strange? Or, would at least be willing to speak more. It certainly couldn’t hurt, in Steve’s opinion.
“Have you met Varnae before?”
Thor lowered his eyes in what Steve guessed was discomfort. The god began to tighten the wrist strap of his robe.
“No, I have not. None of the Aesir did, only the Vanir.” Steve looked at him blankly, “Another clan from a nearby realm. Njord, their lord, had faced Varnae when I was a boy. Varnae was weak then. Njord almost killed him, but the beast slunk away. Ever since, Odin has been gazed at the Midgardian demon with concern.”
“Why can’t he help if he’s so concerned?”
Steve didn’t mean for the question to sound rude or offensive. In fact, he meant it as honestly as one could. Thor’s face, however, darkened. A thin line of lightning circled around his irises and, for the briefest of moments, Steve readied himself for a heavy blow. It never came. Even with such a thick and dark beard, Steve could see that Thor was thinking the same question with a dower mood. The god’s shoulders dropped.
“We must not allow Varnae to grow anymore strength. We cannot keep delaying.” He eyed Steve with an appraising gaze, “You seem as determined to stop him as I. I will not turn away a companion on this, so long as I am the one to kill the beast.”
Thor wasn’t making an idle suggestion. He genuinely demanded that be the main consideration for all of this. Steve would be lying if he said that he wasn’t uncomfortable with the intensity of Thor’s apparent need to kill someone. He never liked being near the bloodthirsty or apathetic over killing. He had lost too many good men under the watch of those types of leaders.
“Well, we need to find where he is.” Steve thought to himself.
He soon gave Thor a short, confident grin.
“Let’s go for a drink.”
“A drink?” Thor asked sceptically.
“Strange said that we’re being followed, right? Let them follow us. Surely one of them will be willing to talk if they were to be caught.”
Thor was silent and Steve quickly felt as if his plan was about to severely mocked. Thor’s slow and gentle grin made him exhale with relief.
“I have not tasted human ale in many years.”
“You’re gonna need better clothes.” Steve did his best not to sound too offensive about the god’s attire.
Wearing an alien robe to a sport’s bar might not be the wisest idea. Then again, making yourself bait purely to catch someone perhaps was not the wisest idea, either.
***
Jarvis counted to himself as he carefully held the expensive serving tray in his thin hands. As silly as it was, he found that it was always easier to balance things when he was counting. On many occasions, it had not only saved him from spilling drinks or food, but had also saved many expensive suits and dresses from being ruined. His counting stopped as he entered the basement. It was empty. In fact, there was no sign that Tony had been there since he had left the night before. The clothes were still thrown about, tools were messily placed on the floor, and a stale slice of pizza decorated a workbench. Jarvis frowned. The Stark Industries truck was in the garage, however. It was what indicated that Tony was home.
Eggs, bacon and hash browns in hand, Jarvis quickly climbed the stairs. His pursuit of his employer ended by the pool. Much to his horror, Tony was operating what appeared to be welding torch near open water. He was wearing only his underwear and some protective equipment as he sat soaking up the sun. Tools were littered around him, and several boxes rested by his feet.
“Are you mad, Mr. Stark?” Jarvis barked, hastily running towards him with his food still on hand.
Tony didn’t reply. In front of him was a large structure made from a silver metal. As Jarvis grew near, it was clear that Tony was welding several panels of the metal into a large suit shaped like a human. It was bulky and mechanical. In many ways, it reminded Jarvis of knight’s armour mixed with a Halloween aesthetic. It was a project that Jarvis had not seen in years, only piquing his curiosity and slight concern. It was never good when Tony resurfaced old projects. It usually meant that he was at a loss of new ideas, which in turn only led to bad habits returning.
The smell of bacon was enough to make the inventor switch off his equipment. Swinging around on the bar stool that he had moved by his pool, he removed his protective mask and reached for the food. His eyes were bloodshot with heavy bags underneath them. His skin was sleek with dried sweat and he seemed to have issues with his arms. They were slow and heavy looking, and appeared to be annoying him greatly.
“A late night, sir?” Jarvis asked through gritted teeth.
Tony barely chewed before swallowing. The meal was messily demolished within a matter of mere minutes. With a satisfied smile, Tony rolled back and inspected his work as he sipped his pineapple juice. The original chest plates had been ripped out, placed by Tony’s stool. The newer sheets of metal that were being pressed onto the superstructure looked similar, yet appeared hollow.
“Something like that. Visited the Tip. For some stuff.”
“I heard, sir.” Jarvis grinned while he removed the tray from Tony’s area of work, “In fact, I awoke to a very surprised, yet eager, call from Martins. He says that you left some notes on the board’s desk about strategies for the next three quarters?”
Tony snorted and shrugged lamely as he looked at the pool.
“Just some notes on some stuff. The shit that they get up to…”
“Well, Martins has already given the notes to the R&D teams. In fact, he asked if this was a sign that you’d be-”
“I’ve had a breakthrough, Jarvis.”
Tony’s tone was extremely excited and innocent. So much so that Jarvis’ dissatisfaction at being purposefully ignored eased slightly.
“May I know more?”
“Well, I haven’t slept because I spent last night fighting vampires.” He turned to look Jarvis directly in the eyes, “I’m not joking or on drugs. Yes, I drank heavily. If you think I’m lying, call…Hank Pym and he’ll back me up.”
“Pym?” Jarvis murmured, “I’m sorry, sir, but please start from the beginning.”
Tony did so as he continued to dig into the silver suit. For each new part of the story, he would rip out a circuit board or a line of wire from within. Jarvis was quiet, as patient as ever. To his surprise, and somewhat concern, Tony was confident in his story about vampires, gods and green women with ‘ridiculously large tits’. To only further Jarvis’ unease, Tony named people and invited Jarvis to contact them.
“Good luck getting a hold of the wizard.” Tony winced as he pushed his entire arm through the chest piece, “Has as much joy to him as…a fucking…nun on depressants.” He gasped as he ripped his arm away.
More parts of the inner lining of the suit were in his hand. Jarvis’ mouth formed a tight lined. Perhaps, years of drug abuse had finally taken a hold of his young employer. The sad thing was that it was hardly the most bizarre story that Tony had come up with. There was one uncomfortable part of the story. Janet Pym. While it was no surprise that he would name Hank, being a possible way to annoy Tony’s rival, Tony never had any qualms with Janet. Jarvis himself found the young woman rather lovely company. Why would Tony mention them, of all people, in such a ridiculous story? Perhaps, it would be worth calling her to assess whether or not Tony was indeed suffering some form of mental breakdown.
“And…the breakthrough?” Jarvis asked carefully.
Tony turned to give Jarvis a joyous smile. He tapped the silver suit of metal with a screwdriver.
“There is no way in living fuckery that Hank Pym has a suit that helps him fight vampires and save the day, and not me. He can have the damn Pym Particles. You can shrink. ‘Well done’, says no one.” He tapped the suit once more, “I’d like to see a vamp get through this.” He grinned at Jarvis again, “You recognise this? It’s the suit that we offered to give for the Horizon launch, before Pym won the contract.”
The Self Propelling Armoured Space Suit, or S.P.A.S.S., was one of Tony’s passion projects and had been for several years. The concept was rather simple and direct. An armoured suit that could survive the harshness of open space with an oxygen tank inbuilt. The original protype had several very small boosters attached to the palms, back and boots to aid in gliding around the shuttle. Yet, there were several rather severe issues. Issues that led to the project being dismissed in favour of Pym’s approach of having a more advanced command module. Firstly, the suit was immensely expensive to produce. Three military jets could be purchased for the cost of the armour. Secondly, it was heavy. So heavy that it was arguably impractical use so much fuel to send the suit into space. The third issue was the flight and controls. The boosters never seemed to fully work well, even for Tony. There was a fourth, extremely concerning, problem. They couldn’t power it for more than four and a half minutes. The raw amount of power that was needed simply couldn’t be kept in batteries that could be stored within the suit. It would need to be plugged into the shuttle, therefore removing its effectiveness as a mobile repair and research suit.
“Might not work in space, but it’ll work on Earth.” Tony resumed his tinkering, “Just need to rework the damn thrust issues.”
Jarvis didn’t know what to say. As someone who cared deeply for the man, he was cautious of saying anything that offended him or triggered a drinking onslaught. That being said, this had been one of the most confusing mornings of Jarvis’ long life. A concerning one, as he watched Tony fixated on a rejected project that broke his heart. He did not handle the dismal of the project well, given his extreme enthusiasm for the armour.
“Mr. Stark, perhaps another option against these…vampires would work? The suit always had…power issues.” He said carefully.
To his utter bewilderment, Tony simply swung around once more and winked. Greasy fingers touched the circular, glowing light coming from the device in his chest. Jarvis looked at it carefully. He had been secretly hoping that Tony had moved away from the topic that had never offered any fruits, only pain. It seemed today was the day that Tony was reliving all of his greatest failures. Jarvis twitched, only fearing the inevitable fallout from Tony’s renewed personal investment in them all.
“I can power it with an Arc Reactor. A new one.”
Jarvis went very still. There was no fear or agitation in Tony’s eyes. There was only a wild confidence and hunger that he had not seen in a very long way. It was almost beautiful for the old man to see it again. With care as to not get too excited too early, Jarvis cleared his throat.
“You…You’ve worked out how to make another functioning reactor?”
“The issue was size.” He cleared his throat, “Not common for me, but anyway. I was trying to make it too big. I was an idiot. If you want to power a city on it, you don’t need to make an Arc Reactor that’s the size of a damn house.”
He suddenly reached into one of the cardboard boxes at his feet. When he straightened himself, Jarvis saw that he was holding a metal coil that was roughly the size of a human wrist.
“Small and refined. That’s the key. I can’t stabilise the power because the infrastructure is too large. There’s nothing to hold the energy in place. Small.” He tapped the working model in his chest, “That’s what made it work. It’s what fucking made Pym work.”
Jarvis stared, his grey brows creasing and relaxing over and over again as he tried his best to figure out the most polite way of expressing his concern. While he was happy that Tony was eager, he had seen this before. There had been many small rises before staggeringly low depth were reached. Weeks would be spent trying to get Tony stabile afterwards.
“Is this…wise?” He said simply.
Tony stopped his screwing. Slowly, he turned to look at Jarvis with a weakened, almost vulnerable stare. It was the same look that he would give Jarvis as a child, when he had struggled to communicate something in plain English and not technological dribble.
“I saw vampires.” He whispered, “I almost died, Jarvis. I know you think this is a drug trip, but it’s not.” His mouth gaped as he hesitated, “I swear it’s not. I almost had my throat ripped out. The animal attacks are vampire attacks. There’s a damn army of them. Bullets will do jack against them. I can…I can’t do a lot against them.” Without looking, he placed his hand on the suit, “I can make this. I can help people for once.” His tone grew bitter as he continued, “The renewable energy was a bust. Halting the production of weapons was a bust. Everything that I do that wasn’t set up by dad has been a bust.”
“Your father would be extremely proud of how y-”
“He was a complete prick.” Jarvis hardened his stare, “He was, Jarvis. And I didn’t make him proud, he made that clear. It was about the only thing that he did make clear. So, what? I don’t care. I’m not an arms dealer.” He said fiercely before he tapped the suit yet again, “And I can make this work. I can help people without…,” He sighed in frustration and rubbed his eyes, “I’ll get it to work.”
The topic of arms dealing was one of the most common sources of arguments that Tony shared with his father. One could very easily argue that the bread and butter of Stark Industries had been the development and manufacturing of arms and military vehicles. In fact, during the Second World War and the Vietnam War, Stark Industries was a goldmine that allowed the Stark patriarch at the time to hold political sway. It was easy to listen to someone when they offered a stick bigger than the one your charging enemies had. Tony was less impressed about the inherited legacy. In fact, it was one of the more shameful parts of his familial identity, in his eyes. As a child, seeing promotional images and film reels of crumpling buildings or lines of motionless bodies made Tony feel equally still and quiet. There was something about seeing ‘Stark Industries’ pressed onto a gun that was pointed at someone’s head that made him quite ill. Howard Stark was not too enthused about such opinions, however. This had been evident in many family squabbles and arguments over the ‘throne’ Tony would be inheriting and why he was being an ‘utter child’ over questioning it. Tony was quick to withdraw himself from his father’s attention as soon as college was an option. The further away from the sire of Stark wealth, the better.
Jarvis stared at him for a brief moment. It was the usually stoic gaze of the professionally quiet man. As a child, it often scared Tony or reminded him of a robot with human skin around its passionless gears. Soon, he collected the serving tray once more and spoke with a light tone.
“Do you require anything for your new project?”
***
Eastwood Manor was a very inconsistent in design and feel. It was a bright place, with the walls lined with a thick blue that the hanging lights shone against brilliantly. The long, often endless hallways were always fitted with a decorated rug from one culture or another; an extinct one more often than not. Many of the rooms throughout its three levels were always occupied with visitors from around the world, each a traveller with more tales than the next. However, it was typically a silent, brooding place to visit. From the moment that one entered through the perfectly trimmed fern walls, there was a very real chance that they would only talk to single person, even if they stayed for days.
That person was often one of two people. Either Jean Dubois or his master, Lucas Brand. Brand was a tall, solid man with extremely pale features and darkened eyes for a man of such strong Celtic blood. His dark brown hair was messy and hid most of his forehead and ears. It was common for the blue and grey suits that he wore to be messy buttoned or poorly cared for, adding to the rough attractiveness many women stared at him for. It was rare for him to not be relaxed or calm. He was, after all, the head of Eastwood Manor. A beautiful place with such glorious views of the rough seas of western Wales. He was not in a calm mood, however. His narrow face was stretched to form a tight stare across the other nine individuals that were occupied his main entertaining room. A large room with a circular table used for feeding guests as they laughed and whispered to one another. He missed such evenings. He already knew that this was not going to be one of them.
The entire table was silent. Each occupant gave the others calculating looks, examining their expressions and reactions closely. No one knew how they felt about being in Eastwood Manor, and all were curious to see how the others were feeling. They each adorned very fine clothes of expensive and diverse origin. Rings with bright jewels shone off many fingers and decorative scarves and fabrics hung off just as many shoulders.
Eventually, a large man with onyx skin felt his patience end. He was easily the largest there, towering over Brand, and especially over the shorter women.
“An hour is a long time to wait.” He noted with a thick, yet strange accent.
Almost all of the occupants held accents that were similar to currently spoken languages, yet they still sounded as if they stood several generations or subcultures apart. Even Brand’s accent wouldn’t be considered any known form of Celtic.
“If you’re implying,” Brand said with mild irritation, “that I lied about the message, then you’re mistaken.”
Brand knew the sign when he saw it. His morning meal a week earlier had been ruined as a rune was cut into the air, ordering him to signal the others from across the globe. It had practically ruined all meals since.
“I would not risk leaving, if Brand is telling the truth.” A Mongolian woman suggested.
It was enough to make the darker man sighed loudly and lean back into the leather seat. Several more moments passed. The youngest at the table, a man with a face of someone in their mid to late twenties, was eyeing them all with a sickened eagerness and excitement. His skin was heavily tanned and his boyish appearance was only bolstered by the curls that flowed by his ears. He interlaced his fingers and smiled wickedly at Brand.
“Me thinks this might be a trap, brother. You wouldn’t want to tr-”
“If it was a trap, I wouldn’t wait a fucking hour to kill you.” Brand snapped, making several other occupants snort.
The younger man’s sick grin never faded, nor did his eyes ever leave Brand as he slid back onto his seat’s back. He appeared ready to jest the northern Japanese man when a faint hiss entered the air. Ten sets of eyes immediately shot to the front of the room. All of them were anxious and uncomfortable. Even the young man’s smile had faded. A wall of glowing red flames had sprung up from the waxed wooden floor. Before anyone could so much as stand, two figures stepped forwards. They were large men with stern gazes in their eyes. Either they didn’t know who they were glaring at, or they were foolishly confident towards them. The occupants of the table did not care about the two men, however. Their eyes were stuck to the gigantic ape that had now walked out of the portal.
Varnae. Their creator. A person that they had not seen in almost two thousand years. The young man’s sinister grew returned and he sat up prim and proper. Varne eyed them all closely, his small eyes scanning each of them as he turned his massive head from left to right. Eventually, after completing his inspections, he patted the brown and orange robe that he wore, and the portal shut off in an instant. Four attendants stood silently behind him, their heads lowered in respect. Brand was silent, his eyes trembling. Varnae was alive. The creature that had given him every drop of his near divine power was once again staring at him. He cleared his throat, feeling obligated to stand and bow.
“Welcome to my home, father.”
Varnae was quiet for a moment, before uttering two ‘oow’s.
“You remember my tongue.” He spoke in English.
Brand cleared his throat again, his eyes reluctantly meeting Varnae’s.
“I…I still it’s important to honour where we came from.”
Varnae let out a seemingly amused ‘oow’. It was a sound that they all dreaded.
“You have…new names.” A thick finger pressed against one of Varnae’s cheek disks, “Different from what I knew you as. Lucas Brand.” He mocked before turning to the others, “Hannibal. Yang Jia. John Falsworth.” A pale redhead flushed, “Deacon Frost.”
The younger man chuckled, earning several panicked stares. He even clapped several times as he rose.
“Well, Mitanni isn’t really spoken anymore, much to my insult.” He touched as his chest as he continued to walk around the table towards Varnae, “We do need to…blend in, after all.”
As he arrived in front of the mighty orangutan, he kneeled and tilted his head.
“As it was when you gifted me with this life, my hands are yours to mould the world with.” Deacon said in his birth tongue.
Varnae said nothing. He turned to inspect the others. An almost mad rush occurred as each of the ancient individuals appeared next to Deacon, their heads lowered in respect as they each uttered their renewed loyalty.
“We…hope that our custodianship of our king pleases you.” Hannibal said in his deep, southern African voice, “We have grown in numbers, power, influence, resources. All will be yours.”
There was an almost frantic desperation to Hannibal’s offer, as if he hoped that Varnae would be impressed and forget any past failures. It was a foolish, yet not unwarranted, hope. Varnae’s last command was to be ‘quiet’ and to study the mystic arts. Suffice to say, they have mildly succeeded and failed at both. While their existence wasn’t known in the mainstream, they had certainly still made enemies. Their attempts to mirror the Sorcerer Supreme’s students in their dedication to magic was lacking entirely, however. All but Raizo found the topic too boring and, with Varnae gone, they had no pressure to learn it. Many were suddenly regretting that lack of interest as they stared at their master.
“I have numbers.” Varnae said simply.
“How many?” Brand asked diplomatically.
“Enough.”
Raizo slowly stood.
“Numbers are not enough against the Sorcerer Supreme. The current one that holds the mantle is as irritating as the one that-”
“She’s dead.”
The room was silent as the weight of the comment sunk in. The woman that had forced them to be silent in the dark was dead, mentioned only in a casual fashion by her murderer. The silence was broken by a laugh and a clap.
“Praise be, father.” Deacon grinned, “The bitch was a stubborn one. You have already succeeded whe-”
Varnae let out an annoyed ‘oow’, silencing even Deacon.
“Not in mood for sycophant. Sorcerer Supreme dead. More enemies for you, I shall kill.” His small eyes flashed with something, “Small enemies that you could not crush.” He looked at a Dorian woman who broke out into shivering, “Beasts that you cannot tame,” He turned to Deacon, who was now irritated, “Human hunters.” He soon addressed all of them again, “I have my own enemies today. New enemies tonight. An Aesir.”
Several of them groaned, having lived through the last time that the Aesir and Vanir frequented Earth. Jia smiled as warmly as she could.
“No threat could challenge you.”
“Always treat a threat for what it is: a threat.” Varnae advised, “The Aesir is hiding with one of the last sorcerers and strange beings with odd blood.”
“Mutants?” A Roman, Marcus, suggested, “They are increasingly common. We are trying to convert them into followers, but their blood resists the transformation process and usually kills them. They’re not a strong threat.”
“I’ll handle it.” Deacon cut in, making Marcus toss him a murderous glare, “I swear that these…attackers of yours will handled very effectively.”
Varnae said nothing for some time. Eventually, all of his firstborn were standing rather stiffly, anxious for direction or even just a lecture. Silence was uncomfortable coming from such a large creature.
“New goals.” He finally said, “I have returned. My order will return, as well.”
Several of the vampires exchanged confused glances.
“The gigan-”
“Atlantis.” He corrected, “The Sorcerer Supreme is dead. My knowledge of magic is deep. I will share it,” Several of the others gained a spring in their step, “All of this world will know. All will prosper. It will be like the old days. Machines and magic, together with humans.”
The last part was not expected. In fact, it was nowhere near what was expected. Many of the ten grew confused and uncomfortable, while Deacon looked openly resentful at the idea. Brand spoke first.
“Atlantis was a…beautiful place from what you told us. But, trying to rebuild that culture will…It’s not…Why share it with them?”
“There is also the concern of numbers.” Hannibal mentioned softly, “They have bred to the billions with communication technologies that cause many problems. It is no longer like when we could rule a city without any others noticing. They have weapons that could harm even our minions.”
Varnae beat his chest several times in what appeared to be humour. His head bopped several times and he even turned to his attendants to see if they were understanding the joke. Almost instantly, they all forced a giggle or a laugh. Hannibal was flush and very confused.
“Weapons. Weak. Weak weapons.” Varnae ‘oow’d many times, “I know more. You will find. Search the Atlantean sites. Ruins. All of them.”
As he spoke, he raised a single finger. A glowing spiral of green area. A spiral that grew and bent as the lines made new patterns. Eventually, a strange symbol that resembled a fish crossed with a porcupine was floating above a leathery finger.
“Find.”
“May I ask why?” Raizo asked carefully.
Atlantean ruins were borderline non-existent. The civilisation had dwelled on the seas, meaning whatever remained of their citadel was hundreds of metres below. They had less than a handful of land sites, many of which had been resettled and built upon over the course of thousands of years. Tracking their existence across the Aegean was not an easy request, especially given how little would be found.
Varnae said nothing. The gigantic creature turned as a wall of fiery red reformed. One after the other, the attendants led Varnae out of physical form. All that were left were the firstborn, along with the two large vampires that heralded Varnae’s entry. Judean woman, Adinah, began to walk away, but not before murmuring to Brand.
“Well, the independent times are over.”
“Agreed.” One of the far younger vampires called, making her stop and causing the others to turn to him, “Lord Varnae has requested that we stay to act as his personal liaison to you all.”
“We’re not good enough for a visit?” Brand hissed.
“Or a fucking phone call.” Marcus muttered, “Some lowly spawn will not command me.”
“Who turned you?” Jia asked, her eyes twitching as she suddenly realised something, “Who turned all of his forces?”
A slight smirk formed on both men’s mouths. They exchanged a smug look before the second newcomer answered.
“Lord Varnae.” The room felt a very stiff silence form, “Looks like you’re not the only High Vampires anymore. A bit of population boom has happened.”
The strongest of their kind was always the first. It was partly why they had retained leadership over their slices of the world despite living for centuries. The strength of their kind diluted the more generations away from Varnae that occurred. The High Vampires could still create powerful underlings, but the vampires that those underlings formed were much weaker. The ones that they created were practically mindless ghouls that lurked away from the sun. That dynamic had ended, however. Several of them wanted to kill the two men. None were confident enough to upset Varnae, however.
Deacon approached them with another of his smiles. He clicked his tongue and extended a hand.
“So,” He began, “Who attacked you tonight, exactly? Who was Varnae referring to?”
***
Peter was not having the best of days. School was always frustrating for him to go through. Having only slept for four hours, he was unusually moody as he sat next to Harry for chemistry. While usually one of his favourite classes, Peter had difficulty focussing on the content as Miss Stilwater slid slide after slide into the projector. His eyes were sagged as he stared aimlessly around the class. Even Harry was surprised at how little attention that his friend was giving. It annoyed him, as Peter was the source of his notes and study tips.
“You okay?” Harry whispered, “You look like a truck hit you, man.”
Peter yawned softly and shrugged. His mind simply wasn’t in the right place to study isotopes. He wanted to curl up somewhere warm and nap for many hours. When he wasn’t fantasising about sleep, he was idly thinking about the night before. Never before had he seen anything like what he had when he was in the sorcerer’s house. There was a god, Captain America, Tony Stark, a shrinking man, and Jen. He found himself shifting slightly as he remembered the disappointment in her tone as she mentioned his age. He wasn’t that young. He sighed softly. It wasn’t his fault that he was a few years younger. There was always something when it came to girls. He was too skinny for some. He was too socially awkward for others. His face wasn’t attractive enough. His clothes were too raggy. It was ridiculous. While he had kissed girls before, it was always a nightmare of an experience. Yet, whenever he walked through the school corridors, classmates were always kissing or at least holding hands. On the rare occasion that he was invited to a party, it was even worse. There were always people kissing, if not doing more, on every couch while he just stood there awkwardly. What he that unappealing? Surely, he had something going for him.
He sighed again, but louder than he expected.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Harry whispered, a bit more forcefully this time.
Peter eyed the teacher before leaning to the side to whisper.
“Do you…Is it bad that we’re not sleeping with anyone?”
Harry went very red. He let out a tight chuckle and shrugged a little.
“I actually am.”
“With who?” Peter snorted.
“Sally.”
Peter turned to look at the dark girl at the front of the class. With a cruel smirk, Peter dramatically opened his mouth and formed his lips to pronounce an ‘s’. Harry almost jumped on Peter and shook his shoulders.
“Shut up, I was kidding!” He hissed, making Peter laugh quietly, “Not everyone’s getting laid.” Harry shrugged.
“Yeah, but like…Are we that bad looking?” Peter looked at the projected image of an explosion, “I can’t even get a date. Flash gets dates.”
“Flash only gets a first date. Apparently, he tried to take Liz to a burger joint and spilled mustard all over her shirt.”
“Is that why she’s not talking to him?” Harry nodded, “Oh. Well, that’s still more than us.”
“Maybe we just aim too high? We need to work our way up. Start with…Lucy and end with MJ.”
“Lucy started a freaking fire because she liked the colours. She’s crazy.”
“Exactly. Means one of us has got a chance.” Peter was not enthused, “Well, we could try meeting people out of school? There are some interns at my dad’s company that are cute.” He paused as he began to turn red, “A few said they thought I was funny, actually.”
“Harry, your dad runs the company.”
“Exactly.” He grinned, “Imagine what they’d do for a fulltime job.”
“Exchanging a job for sex is illegal, idiot.” Peter observed, making Harry muttered as he played with a pen, “Older girls aren’t great, anyway.”
It was the pained, annoyed tone that made Harry turn to directly look at him.
“What do you know about older chicks?”
“Nothing.” Peter mumbled before sighing, “I think…I have thing for them.”
It was possibly true. Aside from the blushing that would come whenever he thought of Jen, there had been one other example. It was the only experience that Peter could, possibly inaccurately, label as ‘serious’. Serious in the sense that it had resulted in several kissing session and even a very nervous and shaking hand being placed on a butt. While the blonde girl wasn’t as old as Jen, she was still twenty or so. A sour mood poured into Peter’s already tired mind. Bitterness always followed the memories of Felicia. In hindsight, she wasn’t a nice person. Not in Peter’s mind, anyway. Yet, he was dumb enough to fall for her winks and giggles, the looks that she would give him as he found her robbing a store, and the throaty voice that she had whenever she got near him.
“Pete?”
He looked down. He had snapped the pen that he was holding, spilling ink all over the desk. It had not gone unnoticed. Miss Stilwater’s mouth was curled in annoyance and Peter quickly rose to find something to clean it up with.
“Older girls aren’t worth.” He mumbled to Harry.
Peter’s mood did not improve. Flash’s taunts at the ink stains on his pants and shirt almost drove him to throw a punch, one that would have effortlessly shattered bone. The train was loud and cramped. His face was flushed as he noticed several people staring at him and snickering. With tired legs, he carried himself up the stairs and towards his door. Mr Madley was on his usual spot, using a bucket as a seat as he watched Peter approach.
“Parker.” He called, “The fan’s not working.”
“I can fix it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I might not make it to tomorrow. It’s too damn…”
He stopped once he saw the uncharacteristically dark glance that Peter offered. He slowly nodded and cleared his throat.
“Tomorrow. Ah, everything okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” Peter murmured, “Have a goodnight.”
There was a single pleasantness as he entered his home. His greying aunt was dressed in a nice jacket with floral dress underneath. As he entered, Aunt May was finishing putting something in her purse. She greeted with a wide smile that abruptly ended as soon as she saw the ink stains.
“Don’t ask.”
“One of those days?” She asked sympathetically.
He grunted, more interested in what was happening.
“Malcolm, Janice and a few of the others from work asked if I wanted to see a small play that Janice’s niece is playing in. It will only take a few hours.”
“So, you’re allowed out?” Peter grunted, almost outraged by the double standard.
“Yes, because I’m an adult.” She smirked, “They’re also meeting me here, so I’ll be travelling in a group. Mr. Madley will check in a few times to make sure that you haven’t snuck out.” She walked over to give him a kiss on the forehead, “Dinner’s in the fridge. Behave.” She warned.
“Yes, yes.” He groaned, tired of the way she was treating him.
“Good.” She said before grabbing her purse and walking towards the door, “Have a good night.”
“You, too.” He mumbled.
He was asleep within mere moments of Aunt May leaving. Huddled on the small couch, the trials of the past two days had sunk him into a deep slumber that drowned most of the world out. It was only the aggressive knocking at his door that awoke him with a glare. While it was dark and the moon was in the sky, he doubted that he had slept more than three or so hours. Mr Madley would be getting a chair thrown at him. As he wiped his stinging eyes, the teen slowly walked towards the door that was being physically assaulted.
It wasn’t Mr. Madley. It was a tall, dark woman with long locks that were separated by many braids. She was a dark leather jacket with a green underneath that showed a frog winking at the viewer. Had this not been a stranger, Peter would have laughed at it. The back of Peter’s neck tightened as a familiar, uncomfortable sensation travelled down his spine. The woman eyed him in dissatisfaction. She eyed him with immense disappointment before pulling something from her jacket. It was a vial that had some very small traces of a red fabric within. She popped the plug open and inhaled the air of the air. Her eyes snapped to Peter and darkened before that of a normal human’s. Peter stepped back, foolishly allowing her enough space to step into the flat and to close the door behind her.
“You’re a kid.” She grunted.
“Who are you? Get out. Now. Look, I’ll call the-”
He stopped as he saw her yawn. Her lips had shifted upwards enough to reveal teeth. Fanged teeth. Peter stepped back again, trying to put as much distance between them. The woman looked unimpressed by the gesture.
“Don’t take this personally.” She shrugged in a bored manner, “Deacon wants you dead, though.”
As she spoke, she became aware of the vinyl player on the shelf by the door. With an amused expression, she inspected the records that Aunt May had collected. Peter began eyeing his surroundings, do his best to work out what to do. He had never actually been attacked in his own home, and he became highly grateful that Aunt May was gone. His thoughts were emptied as the sound of Andy Williams’ Impossible Dream began to loudly play, filling the entire flat with its music.
“Who the hell is Dea-”
Peter’s neck tightened almost painfully and he immediately ducked. At a speed that he could not see, the woman had thrown a fist directly at his skull. He spun, watching as she almost skidded out of the window. Peter eyed his schoolbag. It was by the couch. With a panicked leap, he dived for it. As his hand grabbed a strap, something collided with his chest. He screamed as his ribs erupted in pain and he felt his body crash into the floor. No sound was enough to overcome the blaring music, however. The vampire dislodged her shoulder from Peter’s chest. As she stood, she was taken aback by the speed of Peter’s feet knocking into her chest. It was enough to lift her off the air as her body rolled into the sofa. Peter ignored the crippling pain that followed each breath as he opened his back. Reaching into a secret compartment that he had sewn, albeit poorly, into the back, he grabbed two thick bracelets and hurriedly snapped them on. With a bounce, he leapt up to feel his neck tighten once more.
He leaned back, barely missing the punch aimed at his jaw. He was able to land two very fast jabs into her chest, both surprising and infuriating her. It was clear that whoever this Deacon was, he did not know what Peter was actually capable of. This fact was only furthered as Peter followed his neck and swirled out of the way of another inhumanly fast right hook. As he got behind her, he connected her arm to the floor via webbing. This was not the right idea. With utter ease, the vampire ripped the panel of wood out and threw it at Peter. The speed was faster than his sense could interpret. With a pained shout, Peter’s shoulder and upper arm erupted in a thick pain. The attack was followed by pain cracking into the back of his ribs. Before he could understand, a hand latched onto the back of his neck. Without aiming, Peter placed his hands behind him and shot webbing wildly. The woman shouted in disgust and threw Peter down. His knees made a sickening throb as he fell directly onto them. He managed to roll and land a kick to the blinded woman’s leg, but it only caused him to whimper in pain as his knee joint cracked.
The vampire wasted not time in ripping the webbing from her face. Before Peter could hurl the dinner plate that he had webbed towards her, she had sped right in his face. With mocking ease, she caught his frantic and terrified punches and threw one of his arms away. Using the momentum to distract him, she latched onto his other arm and used it as leverage. Peter’s nose made a sicking nose that made him want to vomit. But it was the suddenly leaking of blood that made him realise that he had been punched. Then came the horrific pain.
The sight and smell of his blood made the woman lick her lips and moan in an almost erotic manner. With darkened eyes, she turned to the arm that she was still holding. Peter’s eyes widened. Before he could stop her, four fangs sank into his arms. Even the music could barely contain the horrified scream that escaped Peter. He felt her lips vibrate on his skin as she moaned in delight. With whatever strength that he could muster at his current angle, he pulled his free arm back and grunted loudly as he smashed into her temple. The fangs cut across his arm as she flew back, forming several long and deep gashes that were pouring blood.
Peter was panting, his eyes watering in fear. Even he knew that it was not wound to scoff at. He turned to the disorientated vampire and hastily poured as much web at her as his cartridges would allow. Before she could free herself, Peter shouted and leaped into the air. His foot pressed into her body and he watched with blurry eyes as her body vanished out of the window. He didn’t pause for celebration or to plan the next attack. She wasn’t dead. In fact, if she was like the others, she would probably be able to crawl up the walls in a matter of moments. Peter didn’t care, however. His entire arm was soaked in a thick red. With a pained and terrified whimper, he wrapped the wound the best that he could with a shirt lying on the ground. He was bitten. He could become one of them. He would turn from hero to villain. From saving cats from burning buildings to no doubt having a pet demon, like in the novel that he had to read for class.
Strange. He was a sorcerer, after all. He wasn’t too far away, either. But as Peter ran towards the window and hid his face in a black hood, a new form of panic occurred. The vampires were hunting him. That woman might not have been the only one. Others could be trailing him, waiting for him to try to get to Strange. Worse yet, other could attack Aunt May while he was gone. He cleared his throat and continued his leap out of the window. He could offer or gain no help by waiting in the loungeroom as his slit wrist poured blood. He needed to be fast. He would make it. He knew that he would. He just hoped that his numbing body and blurry eyes knew it, too.
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope that you’ve had a great week. Thank you all so much for reading this far in, I really hope that you’re still enjoying it.
Next chapter will build on Strange’s reluctant association/friendship with some of the team, as well as Thor and Cap going on their mini mission. You may or may not also see the first attempt at the Iron Man suit in action…
If you have any suggestions or feedback, please don’t hesitate to leave a kudos or comment. I always love to see them. Otherwise, please have a brilliant end to the week!
Fact of the chapter: So, giraffes have the highest blood pressure of any animal. In fact, they have almost double the amount of blood pressure than the animals that tie for second. So, please don’t stress them out. They have enough issues going on already.
Chapter 7: Why We Do What We Do
Chapter Text
Within the emerald green glow of the reliquary, there was an almost timeless quality to it. A stillness. Many hours could be spent standing amongst the many objects. Objects of great power. They came in near endless shapes and origin, their skin and strength were different from all others nearby. One could stare upon golden blade of Dragonfang, a maddening desire to wield it overtaking all over senses. An immense sense of unknown terror could overtake those that looked into the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, leading their minds to wander into insanity. The wooden fragments of the Wand of Watoomb, an idle wooden pole with metal bands wrapped throughout, was prone to spiralling even the most trivial of magic into catastrophic displays of destruction.
Yet, Strange took little heed of any of these relics. His hunched form nestled in the far reaches of the reliquary, his body hidden by many rows of wooden cabinets. His face was basked by the source emerald glow, making it adopt even harsher shape than usual. His darkened eyelids were heavy and lethargic as he almost unblinkingly stared into the bowl of green flames. Many evenings were spent staring at the rippling tongues of eternal fire. At first, his eyes stung with the sharpness of the light. They were numb now. In fact, Strange felt no after effects of staring into one of the oldest objects in the room. Had anyone else understood what the object was and how often Strange peered into, they would no doubt cry out in concern before forcibly ripping Strange from the room. Yet, he was alone, left to stare into the Cauldron of the Cosmos. His attention now rarely strayed from it, an almost pathological longing for it growing deeply within his mind. There were no words spoken to him, yet he still awaited them to come from the Cauldron. He needed guidance, yet all the Cauldron offered was silence. No images danced in the flames, no warnings, no advice. Only silence.
Perhaps, that was for the best. Part of Strange questioned himself deeply on how he would respond to another vision within the flames. He had not taken the last warning seriously, but perhaps he would take the image too literally or strongly. The Cauldron was known for vague images and false truths. A possibility could be turned to a certainty if Strange acted too brashly. Yet, despite all of the risks, Strange did not care about being hasty or lethargic with the Cauldron. It simply didn’t matter anymore. There was a reason that only he remained within his sanctuary, that he was the only one to gaze into the emerald flames. The moment that mattered had already passed, leaving only Strange to wander the halls and corridors. A bitter taste formed on his tongue. His eyes sharpened as they glared into the flames. They had yet to show his own death. No. That would be too pleasant of a revelation for the man. Death was a rather definitive end for a mistake, yet lingering in life was a very fitting punishment for a fool.
Perhaps, if he were lucky, Varnae’s ever growing forces would lose patience and simply storm the building. He could feel their presence loitering and prowling around his invisible boundaries. He could almost hear their hungered muttering as they tried to understand why they could not attack. It didn’t matter. When the time came, Strange wouldn’t resist. He had come to that conclusion many months prior. It was the second time that he had come to that acceptance about death. The first had been during the months after his car crash, the crash that led to steel wires being permanently drilled into his shaking hands and fingers. It was okay. A just end for an unjust man. An end, something long sought after.
He doubted that he would be the only one that Varnae would target. If they were still alive, the band of irritants were no doubt being hunted and tracked very closely. Varnae did not appear to be someone that left loose ends. Whenever he lost interest in them, his minions would turn to Rogers, Parker, and the rest. It would be one shortly after the other. The last of the world’s unique, laid before Varnae in death. Strange doubted that even the X-Men would prove useful against any of the vampiric legion. No one would. The Sorcerer Supreme lasted as long as a child would. The most powerful, knowledgeable magical being on the planet, and they lasted minutes. A deep exhale escaped Strange as he continued to stare at the flames. The superpowered idiots were too optimistic to understand the true situation that they were in. As much as it frustrated him, it did remind him of his younger self. Eager, arrogant, and very reckless.
Strange’s eyes snapped away from the flames as the sound of a whistle burst into the room. With a rapid movement of hands, a series of grey runes formed around a series of squares, the entire display resting on his palm. His mouth went dry as he saw several moving dots edging closer to the square. As his hand lamely dropped to his lip, his eyes closed. A fitting end to an unfit man. He could manage that much, at least. Without opening his eyes, his lips shifted to form strange, unruly sounds that formed a dead tongue. His skin moulded into a dull orange before cracking a million times over. From each crack, streams of sand poured out and vanished into the thin air. The body of Stephen Strange was gone within moments.
The particles of sand reappeared on a towering rooftop several blocks away. The seething face of Strange appeared from the sand first, before the rest of his body could march forwards.
“Come to finish it?!” Screamed Strange with such violent fury that the three vampires in front of him stepped back several feet.
The murderous, pained glare the sorcerer was offering them was off putting to say the least. The fabric of his black robe seemed to ripple as he panted loudly. A fitting end for an unfit man. He would certainly give them that. The closest of the vampire soon grinned, making Strange offer his own mocking smile back. Blood. He could smell it. He had worked with magical methods of healing enough to train himself to very clearly recognise that scent. As his eyes slowly drifted to his feet, he saw a limp figure lying on their face. A horrifically long and deep cut decorated Peter Parker’s left arm, an arm painted in a thick red. The teen was motionless, his breathing very poor. From the sickly pale skin that he could see, Strange knew that he had lost a concerning amount of blood. A moment later, the sorcerer turned back to the vampires.
“Kids, now?” He whispered.
“Enemies of Varnae, always.” The blonde female to Strange’s left said firmly.
Strange closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. It had led to this, and he had accepted that. A fitting end.
“Then just finish this, already.” He muttered in a spiteful tone.
As he spoke, he surprised them by holding his arms by his side in a sign of surrender. The three vampires hesitated, thinking it was a trick. It was only the broken, bitter expression on the man’s face that gave away what they were witnessed. It wasn’t a battle. It was assisted suicide. Strange’s breathing grew heaving, his eyes almost manic as tried to control the fear in his stomach. He deserved it. It would be quick. Even if it wasn’t, he deserved it.
He took a step forwards, but something grabbed his ankle. Slowly, he peered down once more. With a shaking hand, Peter was giving Strange’s ankle a very weak hold. His face was still lying on the gravel, cut and bruised.
“Help…me.”
Strange said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Those words had been heard thousands of times since the man had entered medical school. The elderly, the pregnant, the desperate, the young. There was another life where Strange had worked on anyone that had needed him. Most cried as they begged, as many of them struggled to afford his services. More often than not, he would reluctantly agree to help them. That was his purpose, to help heal them. In a more recent time, others had also requested the same. It was why he learnt magic, after all. Not to fix his hands, but to aid others. Strange closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Countless of long forgotten memories, both bitter and sweet, made the man’s throat feel very raw. It was a very different type of pain that was felt. He was once a very different man, one that was now standing on a rooftop, welcoming death while a child begged for life. A child that had clearly tried to run to his abode for aid. His mistakes were far worse than mere words could illustrate.
The female vampire had lost her patience and appeared near Strange’s throat. Out of complete reflex and with his eyes still closed, Strange wrapped moving fingers around a clenched fist. A glowing green fist of crackling energy that collided with the woman’s face. Her pained scream became raspy and dull, her flesh suddenly stone. The two remaining vampires looked in horror at the statue that had once been their friend. Strange finally opened his eyes, offering them a cold, challenging look. A challenge that was accepted as quickly as it was dealt with. With a gentle slide to the side, Strange’s mouth uttered more unusual words as he arms crossed over one another in front of his chest. Both vampires stopped in their tracks. Their feet were still running heavily, yet they offered no traction. Before either could beg or threaten, Strange was before them. There was a soft, barely audible clap. A clap that was followed by hundreds of butterflies bursting from the bodies.
He was alive. Strange did not know what to think on the matter. His fate was to still linger on the Earth. A rising resentment at the continued pain was squashed as he quickly ran to Peter’s still body. Strange twisted on hand to the side whilst rotating his other arm by his side. Peter rose into the arm, his mind fully unconscious, whilst a portal appeared in front of him.
***
When Peter awoke, it was to a wet feeling on his bare chest. With foggy eyes, he blinked several times and yawned. He could do little more than that. His muscles ached horribly and they felt very heavy. Much effort was needed for Peter to simply rub his eyes. He was not in his apartment. The walls were a very old wood and were caved to show many decorative animals, many of which Peter did not recognise. There was a dirty, fogged window by his side. The windowsill was covered in jars and wooden boxes. Peter’s stomach dropped in revulsion as he saw strange insects swimming in a jar of a thick green substance. It was enough to make him sit up on the small cot that he was on. His wrist was clean. In fact, Peter had to squint and bring his arm close to his eyes. A very faint line could be seen and there appeared to be stitches made from a very thin material.
“Unicorn hair. Prevents scars.”
Peter snapped his head towards the corner behind him. Strange was seated a small desk, his square head in his hand. He appeared to have given up on reading whatever transcript that was resting before him.
“Cool.” Peter said softly, not sure of what else to say.
“Yeah.” Strange murmured, “Cool.” He turned away from his desk and eyed Peter closely, “You lost a lot of blood. You need to rest for a day while your body replenishes itself.”
As he spoke, he pointed to something above Peter. There was a floating mass of yellow liquid directly above Peter. As if on que, a small orb escaped it and slowly hovered towards Peter before sinking into his sleek chest. Peter eyes widened in concern and he looked back to Strange.
“What the hell are you putting into me?”
“Mixture of things, really. Mostly to increase the production of red blood cells and to prevent infection.”
Infection. Peter suddenly became very still for a moment, his mouth twitching slightly.
“No.” Strange suddenly said, “You’re not a vampire. So far as I can tell, they didn’t try to pour any blood into your mouth.”
“That’s how they’re made? Dude. That’s disgusting.”
Strange didn’t respond for a few moments. He seemed to analysing Peter very closely as the teen shifted uncomfortably at the inspection. He didn’t seem impressed at all.
“Why did you try to fight them on your own? Are you stupid? Arrogant?” Strange shook his head slightly in disbelief, “You’re very lucky you’re not dead, kid. You have no idea how few can claim that.”
“My aunt.”
Strange blinked twice. Peter was suddenly standing, looking around frantically for what Strange guessed was his shirt.
“What?”
“My aunt. They attacked my home.” Peter said firmly, “I didn’t go after them, they came after me. What time is it? My aunt’s probably freaking out and calling the cops.”
So, it had begun already. Varnae was not taking chances, it seemed. Strange allowed himself to mentally admit that he underestimated Varnae’s determination to remove them. It had only been a day since the group had encountered the ape.
“It’s been two hours since I found you.”
“Then you need to help.” Peter said earnestly as he stepped towards Strange, “Please. Just…bring her here. Wait. She’d know about me. Ah, screw that. Can you find her and-”
“This isn’t a safe place.” Strange said in a low tone, “Varnae knows me and this place. Every second, there are vampires pacing around my barriers.” A spiteful shine appeared in his eyes, “It won’t be long before they pierce it.”
Much to Strange’s irritation, Peter merely shrugged. The lanky teen merely took another step towards him, his face becoming all the more desperate.
“Then…Then…Then just send her to her friend’s. Um, like…” He paused to think, “Is there some way to make her stay somewhere without it being mind control and without her worrying about me?”
Strange looked at him blankly again. Peter found the expression rather frustrating, enough so that he crossed his arms.
“Look, she’s the only family I have left. I can’t freaking lose her, man. You helped me from them. Help her.” Peter’s tone wavered a bit as Strange’s blank stare spiked his concern, “I’ll do anything. I don’t have a lot of cash, but I’m smart. If you need school papers written, I can-”
“For the love of God.” Strange soon sighed, rubbing his nose, “No, I don’t need student papers written. I don’t know any children.” He paused for a moment, feeling a reluctant feeling tug at his mind, “What’s her name and where is she now? The exact location, preferably.”
Peter posture eased and his eyes brightened with ill hidden hope. He cleared his throat and thought for a moment.
“May Parker. She’s with friends. Um, a Wilcox’s Theatre. It’s ne-”
“I know.” Strange said bluntly as he started to rotated his arm, “Don’t touch anything.”
Peter’s eyes lit up as he saw a circular portal appear before his eyes. Strange’s dark robe shifted with mist into a tight suit of blue with a faded tie. Strange, suddenly remembering something, halted and turned to Peter. Without asking, he whipped his arm out and pulled out a hair from Peter’s head. Before the teen could complain too loudly, the sorcerer had stepped into the portal.
Stepping out of the bathroom stall, Strange briefly glanced at the mirrors lining the wall. With mild concern, he swiftly straightened his tie and ensured his greying hair remained in place. He eyed Parker’s hair. The things that he did for silence and peace of mind. He murmured a soft incantation and watched as several glowing blue runes danced around the hair.
“May Parker.” He whispered.
The runes melted together and formed a faint glowing line. His pace was swift as he readily followed it. The auditorium of the theatre was flooded with either satisfied customers or disappointed viewers. Mild concern formed as Strange guessed that a show had recently ended. Without trying to be too out of the ordinary, he walked with quick feet. The line led him out of the theatre entirely, and towards a small Japanese restaurant not too far away. Strange paid little attention to the line as he walked past it and into the building.
“Sir, as you can see, there’s a lin-”
Without looking up from the barely visible line, Strange placed his free hand on the neck of the greeter. The young man’s eyes relaxed and took a mildly blissful appearance as the sensational spell worked over his mind. Strange moved towards the middle of a row of tables, his eyes finally looking up at a table of aging people. They were laughing gently, though this stopped as soon as they noticed the stranger standing less than a metre away.
“May Parker?” He asked to no one in particular.
Several of them exchanged concerned glasses, and one woman flushed. Before she could say anything, he forced a cheery smile that made him feel dead inside.
“Michael? Remember, from Peter’s school?”
As he asked the question, his hand touched the bare shoulders of both May and the woman next to her. Their eyes glazed over, and their shoulders eased under Strange’s grasp.
“I just wanted to confirm that you were staying with your friend for several days? And that Peter is completely safe and fine, and that you don’t need to ring the house?”
The two women nodded idly, their eyes unfocussed. A man next to her, a flabby, sweaty man with a thick beard, looked shocked at the display. He wiped his lips before glaring at Strange.
“What the hell is going on here? Who the hell-”
Strange sighed and touched both the man’s cheek and the head of the man next to him. Two by two, the whole table was soon looking lazily out into nothingness. As Strange wiped his hand on a napkin, he shook his head. His time was worth more than this, surely. Yet, he was out of the house. For the first time in months, he had left the Sanctum Sanctorum and was standing in a restaurant. The sudden realisation made the man feel very anxious. Twice in a single evening, both due to Parker. There was a time when he would often frequent theatres and overly priced eateries and restaurants. More often than not, he would be hosting such events with alcohol induced vigour. That was a very long time ago. Strange was a new, very different man now. It was practically uncomfortable to be near so many people. All talking, all looking, all smiling. It was overwhelming.
“Have a good night.” He said absently.
With a strong pace, he left the dazed group and many confused onlookers at the restaurant as he walked towards the restroom. When he returned to his much quieter home, he found his frown quickly returning. Peter was poking a vine that tightened for a moment before relaxing into a stretched out along a table once more.
“Stop touching.” Strange grunted and Peter opened his mouth, “It’s for holding broken bones together. Your aunt is staying with a friend for several days and thinks your safe and won’t call.” He rattled off gruffly.
Peter’s bright smile returned, but quickly became sceptical.
“How?”
“It wasn’t mind control.” Replied Strange immediately, “Not…technically.”
“What?” Peter looked a mixture of worried and angry.
“It is, without going into detail, a spell made to make people feel very good. When they feel very good, they tend to be…more open with suggestions.”
“So, it is mind control.” Peter looked outraged, but Strange rolled his eyes.
“Mind control is a completely different line of magical practice. I didn’t warp her mind. I just…relaxed her before mentioning things. She could’ve said no. I think.”
While not entirely happy, the explanation seemed to mellow Peter a tad. Much to the younger man’s interest, Strange began to hover his palms above Peter’s body, murmuring strange words to himself. Images of bones and what Peter guessed was blood cells appeared in a very faded image between them. Each was eyed by Strange very closely.
“You need more rest. Your oxygen levels are still building and-”
“We’re being hunted. We need to warn the others.” Peter said abruptly.
“What’s the point?” Strange asked without missing a moment, “They’re probably already dead for being stupid enough to get involved in this.”
Peter’s face dropped into shellshock and disbelief. Never in his life had he come across someone so…defeatist and miserable. Even his aunt held herself better when Uncle Ben died. It was aggravating beyond words, and a hot flush went up Peter’s spine. If there was even a single chance that they could save someone, why not take it?
“People are being ripped apart. Freaking vampires are killing people. They want to rule the world or something, I know it. I know these things.” Peter said eagerly as he tapped his temple, “I’ve been around enough bad people to know when someone wants to rule the world.”
“This may shock you,” Strange drawled, “but I know Varnae more than you do. I know there’s no point in fighting when the strongest beings on this planet are already dead because of him.”
“So?” Peter crossed his arms, “We’re still here. We held them off.”
The naivety of the statement almost made Strange scoff.
“A dozen or so. Maybe a little more. None of which were Varnae.”
“We didn’t have you, though.”
There was something in those words that hit an oddly sensitive part of Strange’s mind. His annoyance suddenly flared into rage. He took a step forward and Peter took a step back, fearing the terrifying look in Strange’s beady eyes. It was the look of fear on Peter’s face that made Strange look away in what appeared to be shame. When he spoke, it was with a far softer voice.
“This won’t end like you think it will.”
“Probably.” Peter admitted but his tone was as firm as ever, “We might all die. I don’t want to, though. I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die. That’s why I’m doing this. That’s why I’m Spider-Man.” He thought to himself for a moment before continuing, “What’s the purpose of being a sorcerer?”
Strange eyed him with cold analysis. It was a dull question.
“To understand and master the mystic arts.”
“Yeah, but why?”
Strange looked to the side for the briefest of moments. He knew where he was being herded. Peter was a teenager, and Strange was a neurosurgeon. One was not as subtle as the other. Yet, without quite knowing why, Strange allowed himself to continue with Peter’s questioning.
“To protect the mystical forces of this world, and to ensure that they don’t threaten humans.”
Peter didn’t look smug, to Strange’s surprise. He merely nodded knowingly.
“Yeah, exactly. You help people. You helped me and you didn’t need to.”
“You were practically bleeding out on my doorstep.”
“You had a choice. I have a choice. Mine’s to help others, like you helped me tonight.”
“You’re a child. You don’t understand what this situation is. This isn’t like when you fight the Rhino and-”
“Wait, you know about my career?”
“-you have a good chance of winning without many casualties. We’ve lost. We already have. Maybe you’re too young to understand, but you will soon. It’s not a matter of if we die, it’s when.”
“Then what? You die doing…this? Hiding?” Peter’s face grew sharp, and he began to thrust a finger downwards, “I want to die helping and fighting. That’s what people like us should do. People that can help others. It’s selfish to have these powers, otherwise.”
Strange didn’t know what to think or say. Confusion, anger and pity all swirled within his mind. Peter had seen Varnae’s forces. He had faced them at least twice, and almost died during one such occasion. He knew enough about Strange’s order to know what Varnae was capable of. Yet, the teenager had the arrogance to argue the point. No, it was the stupidity of youth. Strange was the same through much of twenties, as well. But he quickly grew up when faced with this situation. Peter would, too. There was no point in fighting a losing battle and dying with comrades. Death is death, regardless of how you choose to experience it.
“You’ll under…”
Both of their heads snapped towards the ceiling as the sound of a kettle hissing flowed through the room. While Peter was curious, Strange was seething. He clicked his fingers, silencing the noise, before rubbing his grey temples.
“This night will never end.” He muttered as he left the room.
He was idly aware that Peter was following him, but he didn’t care. He quickly paced down a corridor and then down two flights of cracked stairs until he neared the front door. With a wave of his shaking hand, over a dozen locks and bolts hastily slid to the side. He gave Peter a look of warning, but the teen was too busy adjusting his webslinger to his good wrist. Before Strange would mutter a threat to move away, the door loudly knocked again. With a loud hiss, Strange turned and almost ripped the door down.
“It’s almost three in the morning.” He barked to a short brunette that was suddenly taken rather aback, “No, I am not in the mood to convert to Christ or order cookies for whatever cult you-”
“I’m Hank’s wife.” The woman said with uncertainty.
Strange’s brow raised and he eyed her very carefully. She was a short thing, with a very petite body that was posed as if she was ready to strike at Strange. Her round face was flickering between a polite smile and a look of great unease. The sorcerer peered around, gazing at anyone nearby. There were no magical beings within the barriers, so she wasn’t being tailed by vampires, at least. Eventually, Strange silently stepped to the side. As soon as she stepped in, Strange slammed the door shut again.
“There was a time when no one dared enter this building.” He mumbled.
“Because of the asbestos sign on the walls?” The woman asked carefully.
“What has Dr. Pym told you?” Strange asked her, ignoring the reference to the several steel signs nailed to the outer walls.
“Every…” She paused as she noticed Peter, who smiled and waved politely, “Why is there a kid without a shirt in here and you’re in some fancy suit?”
***
Steve sighed in relief as he sat down in the old sports bar. He leaned down, placing the oddly weighted bicycle wheel bag to his side. He was careful not to make too much noise with it. The giant of a man beside him was less cautious, however. With a careless grunt, he placed the equally oddly weighted umbrella at his feet and rested his forearms on the bar. The god seemed to be eyeing everything, from the patrons, to the decorations, to the drinks on offer, very closely. He absently stroked his beard and tugged at the tight clothes that he burrowed from Strange, and he appeared to be whispering something in another language.
“Everything okay?”
“The smell of your mead is…weak.” Thor said with some disappointment, “Though, that may be fortuitous. We cannot be too weak in the mind when we find our prey.”
Steve gave what he said a moment’s thought before humming in agreement. While he was aware that they were purposefully putting themselves in the open for the direct purpose of attracting attention, he was still happy. Yet again, he was actually doing something of value. His prison of an apartment was gone, and he was actually helping people again. It brought a strange energy to the super soldier that he had not felt since he had fallen in ice. He had his shield, fellow soldiers at his side, and an evil to punish. As horrible as it was to admit, part of Steve felt at home again because of those factors. He had something to do once more.
With a polite wave, he gained the barkeeper’s attention. It was the same man that had served him when he had met Janet and Hank.
“Two Millers.”
As the beers arrived, Thor finished half of the drink in less than two gulps. He wrinkled his nose as he placed the glass on the bar. Steve wiped his lip, noticing the look of distaste on the Aesir.
“Not a fan?”
“It is…watery. The human meads I remember were…closer to Asgard’s.”
Steve hummed in agreement and took another sip as his mind wandered.
“Hmm. Yeah, I remember different drinks, too. Not the same, really.” He said to himself, more than anything.
Thor turned to him, a brow raised in warm interest.
“You are not from here?”
“It’s completed. I was born and raised sixty years ago, and was frozen. I only woke up a few months ago. Even though it’s not centuries, like you, it still feels…”
“Different.”
“Different.” Steve nodded, “Same place, different buildings and people and…everything. I was born in a hospital less than thirty minutes away. A hospital that’s a hotel tower now.” Steve shook his head with darkened humour, “We move fast, don’t we?”
Thor looked back to the bar and its inhabitants with deep reflection in his eyes. It was certainly true. He had not expected Midgard to rapidly change so often. It had only been a few centuries, yet countless new languages and cultures had been birthed and mixed to form new ones entirely. Countries and lands that were spoken of around him sounded so strange from the ones that he had seen on human maps centuries prior. Even the way that people spoke and interacted was different. Humans used to be direct, rough and fierce. At least, in Thor’s initial journeys. There was no foul play. They were still fierce, but they placed their knives behind their backs instead of facing an enemy directly. The words that he had overheard were often laced with hidden meanings and many were false smiles when greetings occurred.
“You stare too much at those glowing boxes.” Thor shrugged, making Steve break into a chuckle.
“Only when something good’s on. That can’t be the weirdest change, right? You’re from another world. Humour me. What’s the biggest change?”
Thor took another deep sip and caressed his beard once more. His eyes scanned through many memories as he sat in silence. A pitying expression overcame his rough features, and he tilted his head slightly as he finally came to a conclusion.
“You all appear so lonely and in such small groups. You do not accept others in easily.”
“No.” Steve agreed softly, “We’re very…distrusting.” His tone quickly shifted to a more hopeful one, however, “We’re also very quick to seek friends.”
“In times of peace or in times of conflict?” Thor asked.
“We don’t need war to make allies.”
Thor’s lips curled as his finished his drink.
“It does help, does it not?” He asked before making a small waving gesture, “I did not come to share war stories over drink. I have…I have done that enough in my life. It must have taken time to become used to such a different place? With memories still so strong of an older life.”
Steve paused and looked at his glass with some sadness as he thought of the best way to answer. If he was being completely honest, he still hadn’t gotten used to the different culture that he had awaken to.
“The worst part? I’m the last in my family left. Cousins are gone. Last one died only two years ago.” There was a sudden bitterness to Steve’s tone now, “They’re gone, the war’s gone, the buildings and streets are mostly gone.” He sipped at his beer, “I’m still here. It’s the most…uncomfortable feeling. I can’t even describe it.”
It was terrifying and sickening at the same time. He had found himself walking down streets, expecting to see an old house or local store, only to stop and deflate as he saw apartments or a mall. The feeling of nostalgia and muscle memory being beaten down constantly as he tried to navigate the city had almost made the slump onto a seat and never stand up. He recognised some of the city, but not enough. The question over whether or not this was truly his home anymore had kept him up in many evenings sweating and gasping.
“Perhaps,” Thor’s strangely uneasy voice drew Steve’s mind from himself, “I will feel the same when I touch silver snow once more.” He turned to a mildly confused Steve, “It has been…a time since I have been to Asgard.” He went silent for a moment, “I, too, wonder what my home is like now.”
Steve was wise enough to not inquire as to why Thor had not been living in his realm. From the dower, miserable look on his face, it was obvious that it was a sour point in his life, and Thor did not know Steve well enough for those questions to be asked.
“Any family?” Steve asked, hopeful that it was the right topic change.
It was not. Thor’s expression grew dark and very still. For a moment, Steve was bracing himself for some form of attack. There was a younger, wilder fury in his eyes that Steve had not seen, even when fighting the vampires.
“My father is the King of the Aesir. Odin, Bragi, Gautr, Havi. He has many names.” Thor’s tone was venomous as he stared directly in front of them, “My mother was Frigga, but she fell during the clashes with the Jotun when I was younger. He has a new consort, Freyja.” When speaking the word, Thor’s tone squeaked a little as if he was deeply uncomfortable by mentioning her, “I have brothers. I had more.” He said softly.
“I’m sorry.” Was all that Steve could muster.
“It is not you to blame, Steven Rogers.” Thor’s eyes flicked to the man, “My people are a violent one. Death is something that we are used to.”
“I guess we’re similar like that.”
Thor gave a gentle, well-meaning snort.
“Perhaps, we are.”
“I’ll get us another round. I’ll just use the restroom first. Give a moment.” Steve said and Thor gave him a gentle nod.
The large man’s fingers gently stroked the wooden bar as his eyes drifted before him, his mind wandering to many events before his arrival on Midgard. His attention to his own thoughts so great that it took him several moments to realise that something soft had hit his arm. Slowly, he dragged his head to look to his side. A woman, very tall for a human female, was lazy leaning over the bar, her arm resting near his. Her jaw was sharp, and her blonde hair was shaved at the sides while the rest of her long hair was tied at the back. It was an appearance that he had not seen since his ventures to Midgard as a younger god, and it quickly grew his attention. She appeared to be middling in age, at least a decade older than Steven Rogers. She idly straightened her leather jacket, torn in many places, as she finally looked at him directly.
“Sorry. I’m very clumsy.” She said with mild sarcasm.
Thor snorted softly and titled his head politely at the human.
“No offense was given.”
His accent made her head tilt. A deeply interested, almost predatory, grin overcame her features as she examined his face and hair.
“Are you from Finland? Norway? You sound Scandinavian.”
“Norway.” He said, as that was the only word that he recognised, “I am new to this…land.”
The woman let out a deep, throaty chuckle.
“Cool way of talking. Beats most of the other drunks in here.” Before Thor could interject, she continued, “What gear you bring?”
“A ham…What?” Thor leaned his head back in confusion.
She noticed this reaction and quickly raised both of her brows in what Thor guessed was embarrassment. The blonde held her hand up in apology.
“Sorry. Assume you were like literally every other single guy in here, and rode something.”
“I ride horses and goats.” Thor said in a simple manner.
The woman let out another deep chuckle but quickly stopped when she noticed the stare Thor was giving her. Her mouth twitched and her eyes widened.
“Really? Goats? That common in Norway?”
“It is. I assume that it is not here?”
“I tried to ride a donkey once at a fair once. The fucker kicked my shoulder and popped it out.”
Thor smiled and chuckled gently, making her grin slightly more.
“It sounds like a mighty battle. Did you win in the end?”
“Well, the petting zoo was closed after that, so yeah, I did.” She winked before nodding to the bar, “Your drink’s done. What a coincidence. Mine is too.”
This woman was forward and confident about males. It reminded Thor of the women of Midgard that used to frequent his bed. A small smile formed beneath his beard.
“I am afraid my companion was offering me my drinks. I lack…your coins.”
This did not seem to deter the woman. She merely sighed, somewhat playfully, as she reached into her jacket.
“First one’s on me. I suggest you find your friend for the next one. I know how to break a leg over cash.” She warned, making Thor chuckle louder.
“I do not doubt that.” He said as he eyed her strong statue and the well-formed muscles around her neck and exposed midriff, “What role do you serve?”
“What…As in job?” She asked as she waved down the bartender, “A bit of this and that. Used to be a mechanic. Hated it. I like using my hands, though. Did some building stuff, liked it more. Currently oversee some construction sites. Well, one. But one leads to more.” She quickly aided, “Two rum and cokes.”
Before the drinks could arrive, Thor found himself standing and peering at the door with a fierce stare. A foul scent had finally dug deep into his nostrils. Five newcomers, clearly dressed for a less rough place, were staring directly at him as they slowly stepped towards an empty table. Thor’s jaw clenched.
“They owe you money?” The blonde asked, eyeing the newcomers with interest, “They look like kids. One of them dating your daughter?”
“They are dangerous.” Thor warned, making her turn to him with a frown, “I thank you for your company. It has been most pleasant. Forgive me.”
Before she could say anything further on the matter, even just her name, the god of thunder had walked towards the table. To her deeper confusion, his umbrella was held tightly within his grip. Was a weather based assault about to occur? She silently sat on the barstool, taking one of her two drinks in hand, and watched the scene with great interest. The younger group, four men and one girl, seemed to be smirking at the large blonde.
“I was expecting you to be immortal.” A dark skinned young man sneered, making the others snicker, “You know, not age? You look like my dad when he tried to grow a beard.”
“We were expecting the hammer.” The ginger girl added, leaning back to cross her arms, “Not an umbrella.”
“It’s an illusion, you idiot.” A pudgy one groaned, “That’s why it smells funny, isn’t it?”
“Five.” Thor said in a deep tone, making them all frown, “Only five? Do any of you know what I can do to twenty? Is your eagerness for battle so great that it pours into a desire for death?”
The girl and a blonde man exchanged nervous expressions. The others were not phased by Thor’s words. The darker skinned man simply clicked his tongue.
“We heard that you’re…not what the books say that you are. Not anymore.” A smirk grew upon his face, “Besides, imagine what Varnae will say when we bag a god.”
Thor took time to stare at each one of them individually. It was enough to make all but the leader sink back into their seats. There was a coldness, a heavy weight, to Thor’s eyes that was just unsettling. There was not rage or pain. Just dark apathy as he towered above them.
“Do you wish to live beyond this?” He suddenly asked, his voice gentle, “I have no urge to kill you. I will let you leave this place if you answer my questions. But challenge me, and I will destroy every single one of you, like the dozens of your spawn that lie behind me dead.”
The leader flared his nostrils. Several of his friends had very quickly lost their confidence in this plan. As bizarre as it may seem, attacking a living god suddenly was not very attractive, nor did it seem as wise as it once did. The darker vampire rose, Thor eyeing him silently.
“I’m not so sure about that, old man.” He growled, “I’ll cover this entire place with your blood, before adding everyone’s to it.”
“Why don’t you have the guts to take it outside, then?”
Thor’s eyes stayed fixed on the vampires as they turned to the blonde now standing beside the god. Many of their eyes widened as they realised that they were not being lied to. Captain America really was still alive, and was one of the men that they were being tasked to hunt. Many of their minds flicked to a common idea. If killing a god brought them renown, imagine what converting Captain America to vampire could offer them? An excited eagerness was on several of their faces as Steve tightened his grip on the heavy bag in his hand.
“I’d say it’s an honour,” The chubbier vampire said, “But…” He drifted off, guilt cut into his face.
“Outside. Just us.” Steve said firmly.
“Or do you lack honour?” Thor added, crossing his large arms.
Before anyone could answer, the leader pushed past the two and angrily clicked his fingers. The other four were on their feet and tailing him as many gruff looking men jeered at their soft appearances. Thor and Steve exchanged a brief look of solidarity before also leaving the bar. This was their plan. They would see it through. They were Thor and Captain America, after all. Well, that was what Steve repeated to himself as they were led behind the bar. To their credit, the vampire led them to a nearby, and very secluded, area underneath an underpass. Steve eyed for anyone nearby while Thor simply stared at them.
“I will ask once. Tell us where Varnae is. No harm will come.”
“You have our word.” Steve said as he unzipped his bag.
Many eyes widened in awe and many mouths gaped as a circular shield reflected the moonlight above. The stuff of legends was before them, and many were struggling to accept that they were about to kill or convert the man holding it. Thor ripped away the tight jacket that he had stolen from Strange, and flexed his grip on his umbrella. The fabric melted away to form a thick square of strange, unnatural metal with many engravings upon it. It crackled with weak lightning, and Thor did his best to ignore the unusual weight that it possessed.
“We can do this the easy way, or the-”
Steve was swiftly cut off by an impact that even his shield struggled to contain. The speed on the vampire that had launched at him was overwhelming. The soldier bit into his leg as his legs slid back along the gravel. The vampire was not completely on the offensive, however. The hardness of the shield had clearly stunned him somewhat as his movements became uncoordinated. His fingers wrapped around the edges of the shield, but his attempts to rip it away were hindered by Steve simply slamming the shield forwards. The vampire howled as his nose snapped upon his cheek. Using the chance, Steve spun and shouted loudly as he hurled his shield into the vampire’s chest. The howling turned into an agonising scream as the weapon cut into his chest. His suffering did not last long. Thor, with one hand around the throat of the girl, spun as well, his hammer crashing to the head of Steve’s opponent with a sickening crunch. The chubby man’s body collapsed, Thor’s hammer at his side and Captain America’s shield within his chest.
Thor turned to the woman, an offer of peace on his lips. An offer that was taken as she bellowed and tried to dig her fingers into his eye sockets. Thor felt her body slacken as something caused a fair amount of wind to cut past him. Pushing her hands out of his eyes, Thor saw her head was resting on the ground and the shield imbedded in a wall. Before he could react, two bodies tackled him to the ground while he heard a pained shout from Steve. The leader of the ground grinned in Thor’s face before digging his fangs into any flesh that he could find. Thor shouted softly as the second vampire did the same, his jaw clapping dangerously close to Thor’s throat. Thor clenched his open hand, yet nothing happened. There was no answer to call. A newfound fury and shame shot through the god, making his teeth bare before his foes.
“Arrogant…fools!” The god bellowed.
Without hesitation, his large hands grabbed each of them by the throat. His eyes sparked with magnificent blue and purple as his muscles began to flex. The smell of burning flesh poured out of them as bolts of lining cut into their systems. Their bodies shook every so often before Thor tightened his grip. Two disturbing cracks were heard, and then the sounds of bodies collapsing onto the ground. Thor was quick on his feet, concern for his companion making him hastily gaze around. To his considerable surprise and relief, Steven Rogers was alive. The super soldier, while not as fast as the vampire, was quick enough to land his own blows. In Steve’s mind, this was just another sparring match, with someone that just happened to have fangs. Several blunt punches sent the vampire staggering back. Using his speed, he was able to appear behind Steve and get a hand on his neck, yet Steve elbowed the vampire’s jaw within a moment. The vampire let him go, giving Steve enough time to rip his shield free. He held it close to his side as the vampire almost tackled him to the ground. Once again, the shield managed to knock the vampire back.
“This is unwise.” Thor said as he lifted his hammer.
To his concern, it took more effort than it had the last several times. He quickly refocussed elsewhere. The vampire was not stupid. He could probably handle Captain America. He could not handle Thor, let alone Thor and Captain America.
“Don’t run.” Thor said coldly, “I will catch you.”
“Varnae.” Steve said to the near hyperventilating vampire, “Where is he?”
“Look, I don’t fucking know.” Thor took a step closer, “No! I’m serious! We were left in abandoned buildings, and he would randomly arrive for a few minutes, maybe an hour?”
“Who told you to track us?” Steve asked firmly.
“Ah, Lucas someone. He was one of the ape’s old gang. Last night, we were divided up and told to work with them. I got Lucas.”
“Where is Lucas?”
“He’s going to kill me.” The vampire snapped with wide eyes.
“Does that really seem like your main issue right now?” Steve titled his head to the side, “Where’s this Lucas person?”
“In some manor? We were taken via a portal, and led back here with another portal. We didn’t exactly stick around.”
“Clues.” Steve pressed, “Or the hammer.”
“Fuck, man.” The vampire whimpered desperately, his hand rubbing his hair many times over, “They all had British accents? Or Irish? Something like that. There was another one there. Someone Lucas spoke differently around. You got the feeling that he was another of Varnae’s group. Um. He was Japanese. Raze. Razor…Raizo. Raizo.” Thor and Steve stared at him blankly, “I swear to Christ that’s all that I know. Please guys.”
“What does Varnae want?”
“I have met him three times. I was told to find you by Lucas. That’s all.”
“And the others?”
“No idea, man. We were pulled aside in small groups and shoved out different portals.”
Thor harsh face did not ease, yet he gently gestured to the passageway behind the vampire. Without anymore encouragement, the vampire fled. Steve suddenly broke into deep breaths, finally having an opportunity to regain his air. Thor stroked his beard in thought, his eyes peering out to where the vampire disappeared.
“You fight well against beings that are mightier.”
A soft laugh felt Steve and he straightened himself fully.
“I’m used to it.” He turned to smile at Thor, “We should head back. See if Strange knows about Lucas or Raizo.”
Thor gave an unimpressed sound from the back of his throat.
“If the sorcerer chooses to be helpful.”
“You think he’s holding back?”
“I think,” Thor answered carefully, “that the man will avoid any challenge in any way possible.” He exhaled deeply, “But we must regather our strength and plan well. Come. We shall see if I am wrong about our host.”
Steve nodded and hid his shield with his bag just as Thor’s hammer shifted back into an umbrella. The pair hastily walked by the darkened roads, doing their best to stay near any crowds or amounts of people. Yet, they still stuck out to the blonde woman that was staring at them by the side of the bar, her mouth gaped and body limp at what she had just witnessed.
***
To Strange’s relief, Janet Pym was a silent listener and a very attentive one at that. Rarely did she interject about even the most abstract elements of the story. Though, Strange guessed that her cynicism would have faltered as soon as she saw the levitating orbs that mirrored the rotations of the solar system that rested on the greeting room’s table. She was pale through many of the elements that involved Hank, especially with regards to the vampires and Varnae. Yet, part of her was honestly relieved that her husband was not going insane due to exposure to the serum. He truly had been attacked by vampires and actually survived. It also meant that thousands, if not more, people were directly at risk due to the monsters. Few other magical elements of the story drew her interest. Her attention was nearly entirely soaked up by a mechanical bracelet that she was expecting closely as they sat on green velvet and wooden seats.
“You made this?” She asked with amazement in her eyes.
Peter went a deep red but nodded. Strange had given him a very oversized shirt, making him look almost comical as he sat straight and proper with the older occupants of the room.
“And the tensile strength?”
“A few lines can hold a car.” Peter said with a small look of pride, “Still improving the formulas.”
“We should hire you as our new intern.” Janet mumbled as she held the bracelet into a source of light, “Seventeen and invented something like this. You’d give Stark or Richards a run for their money.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Peter said softly, his small smile still etched on his face.
“A spider bite.” Janet mumbled to herself, “Amazing.”
“With respect,” Strange said as he did his best to look polite, “is there anything else that you-”
“Hank.” Janet was still staring at the bracelet as she spoke, “I want to know if he’s been acting…odd. I know that you only saw him for an hour or so, but were there any…strange ticks? How was speaking?”
Strange raised a brow. Silently, he leaned back into the seat and stretched his arm out to the side, allowing it to rest on the carved wooden frame.
“He showed signs of being on a stimulant.” Strange said in a business-like manner, “His moods were slightly, although noticeably, embellished. Though, it’s difficult to say how much without knowing him better. His eyes showed signs of possible intoxication, however it’s more likely that it was also the stimulant. Based off of his retention of critical thinking skills, he wasn’t on a hul-”
“He’s not on drugs.” Janet finally looked directly at Strange, and it was in a rather terse way, “He’s…” She gave an uncomfortable look at Peter, “He has been taking a prototype serum to shrink his atomic structure. It’s how he shrinks. We’ve gotten some tests that…indicate an impact to brain function.”
“Fascinating.” Strange murmured as he massaged his chin, “The manipulation of mass impacts brain chemistry?”
“Not directly. It appears to be a by-product of one of the chemicals used in the formula. We’ll start working out which one soon. I just…wanted to see if anyone had noticed any aggressive behaviour.”
“He was snarky to Tony Stark.” Peter shrugged.
“In my medical opinion, if there was an increase in emotional instability, he was hiding it well. He was passive aggressive at times, but never overtly hostile. Perhaps, none of us pressed his trigger.”
“You’re a doctor?” Janet asked, making Strange grimace at his slip, “A doctor turned magic man. Wow.” She suddenly sighed, “Now I seem like the boring one.” She chuckled softly, “I’m the only one without powers or a super costume.”
Peter leaned in and whispered.
“Mine’s just old clothes that I found. Nothing special, like Hank’s or Thor’s.”
“But you swing around at night?” Peter shrugged, making a crestfallen Janet press a finger to her cheek, “Seriously? You fight people in what? A jacket and a Halloween mask?”
Before Peter could answer, the sound of a whistle going off filled the room. With a soft shout of frustration, Strange rose to his feet and marched towards the door, muttering about ‘Thor’. When the sorcerer returned with Thor and Steve at his heel, Janet was finishing scribbling something down and placing the notepad into her jacket. Steve smiled widely as he saw Janet, quickly walking towards her and leaning down to kiss her cheek. Thor did not need long to understand.
“The shrinking man’s wife.”
“The god of thunder.” She nodded before examining the peak of a man before her, “You are…god damn huge.”
A shadow of a smile formed on Thor’s lips. Steve sat next to Peter and placed his shield on the floor between them, nodding to an eager Peter who immediately began touching the weapon.
“We made some friends with vampires.” Steve said with a sigh, and the news made Strange grit his teeth.
“Do you not understand any of my words?” Strange snapped.
“It appears I am being proven correct.” Thor said ominously as he stared at Strange, “Lucas and Raizo. Who are they to Varnae?”
Strange gave Thor a deep glare. It was only when he realised that every other person was staring at him expectantly that he took a step back. He was beyond tired, and simply not in the mood for a drawn out argument.
“This will get you all killed.” He whispered, his face staring at the ground, “Why don’t you understand that?”
“Why don’t you understand that we want to die fighting?” Asked Steve, “Better yet, that we want to fight so we don’t need to die. Raizo and Lucas. Answer Thor.”
Even Janet was frowning at the now fidgeting sorcerer, clearly not impressed by his refusal to offer any direct aid. The man’s breathing tightened and he shook his head spitefully.
“You have no idea. Idiots.” He whispered as he rubbed his eyes and sighed, “Raizo was one of the last that Varnae turned before his exile. An ancient Japanese man that, as legend tells, was turned for challenging Deacon Frost to a duel when the vampire attacked his village. He showed such courage that Varnae wanted him as an ally. It helped that he was a very fine swordman. Out of the original ten, he was always the quietest and gave us the least amount of trouble. Lucas Brand is a Celtic vampire that’s easy enough when left alone. When threatened or challenged, he’ll find a way to cut your throat as you sleep. He’s vengeful but careful. He never dirties his precious little hands.”
“Well, Varnae has left his new creations under their care. At least, a decent amount.”
Strange’s eyes narrowed in interest, and he looked away as he thought to himself. Steve continued.
“Brand and Raizo seem to working together, or at least staying together recently. Brand sent the vampires to hunt us, but they’re being smart enough to only tell individual groups their missions, and not any other groups’. They don’t know what any of the others are up to.”
“Unless he was lying?” Janet suggested.
“There was no trickery in his eyes,” Thor said in a low tone, “Only fear.”
“It means that we won’t know anything unless…” Steve paused.
“Unless if we capture one of the original ten.” Thor finished, “Only they seem to possess useful information.”
A bizarre, wheezy laugh escaped Strange. He looked as if he was simply dumbstruck at the idea.
“Go ahead. Try it. Face one of the High Vampires. Do what we’ve been trying to do for two millennia. See how that ends.”
“So macabre.” Janet sighed and she rose to her feet, “Lucas Brand. Raizo. Any other names?”
“Why?” Strange asked suspiciously.
“Because Pym Technologies has government and international contracts.” She closed her eyes and clenched them tightly as if pained, “As does Tony. If there’s some little cult of…things, I’m sure we know someone who knows someone.”
“Dr. Pym, I don’t think you understand what-”
“Look,” She cut in with a hiss, “I’ve had a very, very long few days. Between my husband possibly dying, to stealing something from the government,” Steve quickly looked away, “to vampires, I’m not patient with miserable, grumpy wizards.” Strange’s eyes darkened considerably, “Names. Now.” She repeated as she pulled out her notepad.
Strange looked as if he wanted to throw her out of window. It was clear that he did not take his warnings being ignored well. In fact, he even made an attempt to simply storm away but was stopped when Thor stepped in his path. The two exchanged a silent and foul conversation before Strange turned back to Janet.
“You don’t even have powers or abilities. You think you can fight? You’ll go first.”
The sneer that she returned was both murderous and very insecure. It was true that she was the only one without any major advantage, but that certainly didn’t mean that she had no uses. Steve opened his mouth to defend her but she took several steps towards Strange, her face very red.
“I will ask for names one more time.” She raised her pen, “If you keep me awake for much longer, I’ll shove this in your eye. Names. Now.” She whispered as she stood less than few inches away.
Strange glared at her threat, but was very aware that he was quite literally surrounded, in his own home no less. With a deep exhale, he looked away in defeat.
“You don’t understand what he’s capable of.” He whispered in anguish, his face defeated, “Raizo. Lucas Brand. Deacon Frost. Hannibal King. John Falsworth. Yang Jia. Marcus Vilentius. Adinah. Phaidra. Bayarmaa, though she often went by ‘Lucile Bags’ in the nineteenth century. Each and every one of them has survived more than you can thro-”
“I’ll be back in a few days.” Janet said, speaking far louder than Strange, much to his annoyance, “I’ll give Tony a visit and make sure he’s still alive.”
“Is there a way that we can all contact each other?” Steve inquired, quickly turning to Strange, “You’re magic. Surely you have some way of talking like a radio.”
Strange eyed him blankly. Yet, he was sick of attempting to dissuade them from suicide. They were only going to ignore him, anyway. What they chose to do with their time before Varnae rose to dominance was entirely their choice. The hunched over man walked away, leaving Steve to look Janet and Peter.
“Why’s he in that suit?”
“Helped with my aunt.” Peter answered meekly before raising his stitched forearm, “Had a visit a few hours ago.”
“And you survived on your own?” Thor asked with deep interest, “My. A young warrior, indeed. I am impressed, boy.”
“I wasn’t even prepared. You should see me when I’m ready.”
Thor chuckled deeply and Steve smiled. Strange soon returned with a damp bag. One that he casually emptied on the beautiful table between everyone. Conches. Small seashells without much to examine or comment on at all. Strange sat in front of them with a very thin chisel and began to whisper as he cut into a shell. One by one, he decorated them with many strange shapes and markings. It took several minutes, leading to Thor pacing and Peter almost falling asleep again. Once the last conche was engraved, Strange’s words grew louder and the markings glowed a wonderful purple three times. He then turned to Steve.
“Use these. Place it to your ear and say who want to talk to. It will only work if the person that you say is holding a shell. If you give it to someone else and you’re next to them, Janet won’t be able to reach you, even if she says your name.”
“Seems…delicate.” Peter said before pressing it to his ear, “Steve Rogers.”
The shell in the super soldier’s hand hummed and glowed. Steve didn’t know how to react to such a display. His week truly was becoming harder and harder to comprehend. He nodded to Strange in plain appreciation.
“Thank you.” Strange grunted, but it still gave Steve hope that the sorcerer was not completely apathetic to the situation, “Be careful.”
“Will do.” Janet said as she placed her shell in her jacket, “I’ll…It might…” She cleared her throat, “I’ll do what I can, but I need to watch out for Hank. We don’t know what the serum does, exactly.”
“Damn it.” Peter muttered, “The shrinking was so cool.”
Janet’s lip twitched.
“I’ll still help where I can. There…just might be less shrinking.”
“Try to find Jen…someone. She’s…” Steve paused, suddenly becoming very aware that Jen had given next to no details about her life, “How do we find Jen?”
“I have an idea where she patrols?” Peter suggested, “Strange and I will find her.”
“We will not.” Strange said automatically, “I’m not a taxi service.”
“No, you’re someone who helps me.”
Strange couldn’t quite tell whether Peter’s smile was genuine or mocking, and that fact was the only reason why the teen wasn’t struck with lightning. The sorcerer said nothing, but looked away with clear annoyance. It was the innocent and hopeful look in Peter’s eyes. It irritated Strange more than he could describe, mainly because of the guilt that it could muster.
“Check in daily.” Steve instructed.
Janet nodded.
“It’s been a pleasure, even with you, Doctor Grumpy.” She smirked as Strange snorted, “I’ll be back soon, hopefully with some stuff on the names.”
“Travel safely, Janet Pym.” Thor said as he politely lowered his head.
“I shall, Thor lightning god.” Janet lowered her own head and turned to Peter, “I’ll see what I can do.” She said as she tapped her notepad.
Peter grinned in excitement and nodded. With a swift turn, Janet made her way from the room and did her best not to get lost as she headed to the door. Thankfully, Strange silently followed her and made sure that she didn’t get eaten by a living grandfather clock or fell into an endless pit disguised as a decorative rug.
Steve yawned loudly and rose to his feet. For once, he was staring to look his actual age and rather withered.
“We should sleep.” He turned to Peter.
The large man took some time to look over Peter, his eyes soon resting on the recent wounds that the teen had suffered. He nodded to himself, clearly arriving at some conclusion.
“You especially.”
Peter hesitated, an uncertain look forming.
“Wh…Why?”
“Because in the morning, I’m going to teach you how to throw an actual punch.”
An eager, almost hungry, look crept on the teen’s face. While he had managed just fine on his own, that was arguably due to his abilities more than his skill. Truth be told, he relied on his sheer strength to overwhelm foes and often struggled whenever a foe was clever or fast enough to counter that. Being trained by none other than Captain America was certainly an enticing thought. Perhaps, this weekend was not entirely without its rewards.
An excitable clap and rubbing of the hands were soon made. The loud sound was followed by a startled noise from the entrance of the room. A tall redhead with a pale complexion and soft cheeks was standing there, trying her best not to drop the tray of tea in her hands. Strange groaned softly, suddenly remembering that she was still in house. Part of him was hoping that she would have snuck out by now or attempted to rejoin Varnae. Whatever made his home less noisy was better than what the hell he was currently having to endure. Peter and Steve were also quick to remember the vampire that was housed in the mystical abode. Steve had not seen her once aside from the previous time that she served them tea, and was now quite curious where she was hiding herself during the day.
The woman avoided looking at Thor as she placed the tray on the table. However, before she could run away again, the god was before her. His stoic expression made the vampire tremble as he took a long step towards her.
“I spared you. I won’t harm you. I will ask you to tell me everything from the moment that you were bitten until the moment my hand was on your throat.”
The girl looked as if she was wanted nothing more than to simply erupt into dust.
***
“I miss adventures like this.” Falsworth grinned wickedly as he stood admiring the excavation site along the Cypriot coast from his place upon a short hill.
The small patch of rough, faded green grass was being worked on by several private archaeology teams, all of which were being funded by both Falsworth and Lucas Brand. The latter grunted cynically, his mind more focussed on counting the amount of people that he would have to wipe of the minds of or kill if they actually found what Varnae had ordered his brethren to hunt. Most of them were undergraduate students, all eagerly sifting through sand and dirt on a project that had sprung up out of nowhere. A twitch of pride formed within Brand as he thought on it. Organising complex projects within incredibly short timeframes was a skill that brought him much pleasure.
“Remember when we would travel and explore the world?” The redheaded man continued, the wind whipping at their large sunhats, “This almost makes me feel young.”
“We haven’t been young for two thousand years.” Brand snickered, making Falsworth smile in good humour, “Raizo visited several days ago before I left for Cyprus. He’s agreed to fund several Japanese and Korean excavations along the Mediterranean. Aside from that, he’s here for ‘financial aid’.”
“In other words, we won’t be seeing him here.” Falsworth snorted.
“Well, Japan’s not exactly close and while Raizo’s enjoyment of magic is slightly more than ours, I doubt he’ll want to keep forming portals. He doesn’t like the attention.” Brand made a funny face.
“Hmm. Well, it was nice to have the family back together. When was the last time we were all in the same room? Twenty or so years after Varnae’s exile?”
“When we agreed to go into hiding from the sorcerers.” Brand nodded, “How times have changed.”
Falsworth gave what seemed to be an unimpressed grunt. Brand turned to him, seeing a look of deep contemplation on the man’s face. He noticed that he was staring at several non-archaeologists that were overseeing the project and the ceramic fragments that were being cleaned by the tables at the far side of the site.
“I remember when there were only ten of us and for a reason.” Falsworth spat, “The band’s turned into an arrogant army of spoiled children.”
The arrival of so many other High Vampires had not been met with much joy. It did not help that the main age of the newcomers seemed to be late teens to early twenties, all having found immortality with an infuriating smugness and arrogance. It did not help that they were mostly forbidden from killing any of them, outside of self defence or exposing them to the world. Lesser vampires were easy to control, mostly due to their weakened abilities and inability to go near sunlight. The smartarses that the originals were left with were nothing short of smug at the equal playing field that they assumed existed. It didn’t. None of them had the experience that the original ten possessed, especially when it came to snapping necks with ease.
“Varnae commands their presence.” Brand rolled his head to look at Falsworth, “Perhaps it was naïve for us to think that we could play kings and queens for eternity while the emperor never returned.” His tone turned diplomatic, “Who knows? Maybe this is for the best. Varnae seems confident in his plan for…conquest?”
“What, in the ten minutes that we saw him, gave you that impression?” Falsworth muttered, glaring at the beach before them, “Gods, in the five days since his return, I’ve been stuck explaining every part of my business and personal life to two ‘attendants’, who scamper off to wherever Varnae is hiding. If he wants to play catch up, at least do it yourself.”
“Which begs the question of why the secrecy, even from us?” Brand murmured, drawing more interest from Falsworth, “It is interesting how little he seems to want to be near anyone. Is he sick? Scared of assassination? Perhaps, he fears that one of the abnormal humans will challenge him successfully before we find his precious Atlantean artefact?”
“We’ll find it.” Falsworth bucked his chin at the excavation teams, “I remember the port that was here. There was Atlantean artefacts here. At least before it was destroyed.” He shrugged, casually remembering when he was first told that his favourite tavern, along with the town, was burnt to the ground.
“Speaking of finding things, Deacon located one of the humans.” Falsworth raised his brows and Brand nodded, “Peter Parker, the teenager.”
“Ah. And how’d that go?”
“The initial scout was allegedly beaten by the boy, and the three following hunters were killed by the sorcerer when the boy tried to flee to his home.”
“Embarrassing.” Falsworth huffed, before smirking, “You must be having a field day.”
“Ah, no.” Brand admitted with discomfort, “I sent a small group to track and spy on any of the members. Four of them were goaded into attacking the Nordic god and Captain America. Three of them are dead, and the fourth is desperately trying to outrun me. It makes me think that he talked.”
“Huh.” Falsworth shrugged again, “Well, at least they’re not organised. Even if they were, the only threat is the god, and he’s old and weak now. This isn’t an issue.”
“Treat all threats for what they are: threats.” Brand repeated, making Falsworth sigh loudly, “Even if Varnae wants to be hands off, he’ll blame us if something goes wrong. Correct? Due to that, I suggest…that we begin taking out the weaker of the group. Start to quickly rush them before they can unite or get any actual information.”
“And the others that may be a concern? The amount of mutants now are…concerning. We should-”
“The X-Men do not know of our plan, thus attacking them without direct need would simply draw their full attention on us.” Brand warned, “Leave them out of this. For now. The others are a more present threat, even if a small one. Better to just remove them now, for ease of mind.”
“Fine, fine. Do you have any names?”
Brand adopted a slightly humoured look. He tugged his hands into his loose pockets and rolled his head to look at Falsworth again.
“Tony Stark.”
“What?” Falsworth’s mouth gaped a little.
“Oh, yes. At least six of Varnae’s new pets identified him. I’ve been tracking the scents of the others. Steven Rogers. Thor, Prince of Asgard. Tony Stark. Peter Parker.” Brand’s lip twitched, “We’ve yet to identify the shrinking individual, but my agents are hunting the scent. We did find the sixth. The green woman.” His smirk returned, “Someone that’s barely passed law school. Jennifer Walters. I know where she lives, as well as Stark. Rogers, Thor and Parker have spent the last several days with the sorcerer. I suggest we trim the other three from the equation.”
“Agreed.” Falsworth nodded heartily, “You want my men? Don’t tell me you’re going to join with Deacon on this.”
A loud laugh travelled down the hill.
“That fucking psychotic peacock has already screwed this enough. We’ll handle it quietly, together. Interested?”
“Naturally. How many do you want?”
“Two each for Stark?” Brand suggested and Falsworth nodded, “The green one worries me. I don’t want to take chances. Five each.”
“Ten for one woman?” Falsworth looked as if he were about to laugh.
“I’m not taking chances. I don’t care if it takes less than a second to rip her head off, but we need it to be done. I’m not screwing up with Varnae breathing down our necks.”
Falsworth let out a dramatic groan, but eventually forced himself to nod.
“I’ll fly some men over. Want to send your guys to America on my jet, too?”
Brand stared at him blankly. Soon, he shrugged with a contemplative look on his face.
“Yeah, why not? Thank you.” He turned back to the excavation site, “All this…I was expecting such a peaceful week. But, for the glory of Varnae.”
Falsworth let out a grunt from the back of his throat. He looked as unimpressed as Brand did.
“For the glory of Varnae.” He whispered.
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope you’re well and having a good week. Sorry for the delay, work is work. Thank you so much for reading this far into the story, and I really hope that you’re enjoying it!
Next chapter will show Hank at his absolute low point, as well as show what Tony’s first attempt at a suit looks like. There’ll also be some sleuthing by Jen and Janet, as they try to work out some leads. Hope that sounds fun.
Hope you’re enjoying it. If you have any feedback or suggestions, don’t hesitate to leave a kudos or comment. Always great to see them. Otherwise, have a brilliant week!
Fact of the chapter: There is over 300 different sign languages in the world, often different from country to country and ethnic group to ethnic group. I genuinely wonder if there are sign language translators…
Chapter 8: Alone They Fall
Chapter Text
The loungeroom of the Stark estate was perhaps one of the more expensive renovations that the house had experienced. The outer walls were comprised entirely of large, very clear windows that overlooked the water and the beautiful sunset that was falling upon it. Brilliant yellow and deep reds shattered against the dark, earthy blues in a view that cost a small fortune to live by. The aristocratically white marble floor was perhaps too old fashioned, yet it suited the dark cream colour of the ceiling and walls rather well. Due to that fact, Jarvis was considerably irritated as he approached the room. Withered hands tightened around a heavy bag of tools as the dozens of mechanical parts, scrap pieces of metal, and wires became the main décor. Much of it was stained with a rich oil that oozed onto the floor. Jarvis’ lip twitched at the sight. As he forced himself to walk towards the scruffy man working near the windows, he tried to calculate the amount of money that it would cost to clean the place. He certainly would not be going near the oil stains without the right sprays, they were nightmares to remove.
“Ah…Yep, I understand.” Tony sighed, his back to Jarvis.
As the older man approached, Tony turned and offered him a nod, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. His eyes naturally descended towards the satchel in his butler’s hands. With an eager and very brief smile, he tapped the makeshift workbench by the suit of armour. The table was once used to serve the political guests of Howard Stark. The horrific scars and imprints that the resting machinery was now causing to it would cause Tony’s mother to heave and faint.
“I understand.” Tony repeated, “Look, just scrap it then. Yes, yes. I know.” He groaned, “Look, I own the company. Just scrap it and convert the resources into Project: Alumni. You’ll have the workforce then. When the prototype is done, send it here. Yep. I know. Yep, have a good one.”
Placing the phone back on its stand, there was a deep release of air from Tony’s dry lips. For a brief moment, Jarvis believed that Tony had forgotten that he was in the room next to him. His eyes seemed fixated on something in the water and his mouth mumbled words of near silence. The show left Jarvis standing awkwardly for several moments, until Tony finally uttered something.
“Jarvis.” He spoke in a near distance voice as he finally turned to the older man, “What do you think?”
Jarvis eyes slowly followed Tony’s and rested upon the large suit of silver and grey armour that was standing in a hunched manner before them. It was clearly a very heavy thing, evident in the many steel chains attached to the ceiling that it clung to for support. It was easily another head above Tony and at least half again in terms of thickness of the waist and limbs, both of which were heavily scarred from being ripped apart and wielded by an extremely tired and probably intoxicated individual. The front plates were greasy as well, and could easily benefit from a good wiping down.
“It looks rather heavy, sir.” Jarvis managed, his shrewish eyes examining the chains once more.
“It’s a bitch to move in.” Tony agreed in his worn voice, “Need to work on the switches in the wrists, too.”
“Switches?”
“For the rockets in the boots.” He hesitated, “May have also outlined the hand boosters with the repulsor tech. It seemed to fry the damn vamps last time.”
Jarvis resisted the urge to scold the man. For Jarvis, the jury was still out on their existence. Matters had not been made better as Tony became more invested in redesigning the suit to fight the supposed threat. While Jarvis was extremely happy that his employer had enthusiasm in his work and company once more, his back was starting to ache from constantly carrying around equipment. There had simply been no time to visit the Pyms to assess Tony’s story, given the sheer amount of tasks and chores that Tony had set upon him. The aging man was not as spiteful as he once was, and carrying pound after pound of thick metal instruments was not an easy task. Still, he complained little. It was simply too pleasant to see Tony focus as he had been for the last several days. The younger man had also been completely sober, the longest that he had been so in months.
“Speaking of which,” Tony’s voice took a higher pitch as he remembered something, “Need you to run by the labs before nightfall.” He said as he hastily wrote a note, “I need some smaller transceivers for the helmet. The radio is a bit hectic with the current size.”
“It will be nightfall so…” A begrudging smile quickly formed on the man, and he straightened his back, “I shall be back shortly. Do not expect me to have dinner prepared. I can’t be two places at once, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tony rolled his eyes, “There’s always the stuff in the freezer.”
Jarvis’ face suddenly became very strained, and his eyebrow appeared to give a minuet twitch.
“I threw them out, sir. I believe that the pizzas were so old that they could be used as a rather potent poison.” He replied as Tony’s note was taken.
“I’ll order something.”
“And I’ll be back shortly.”
Tony gave Jarvis an appreciative nod as the butler left, but his mind was already on something related to the suit once more. An underlining urgency that had brought his mind almost constantly back to the armour. One that had lingered for several days. There was a strange competitiveness, a sullen insecurity that the mere sight of Pym’s shrinking suit had caused. The man was a nervous wreck masquerading as a peacock. Yet, even he had something spectacular to offer the end of the world. Shrinking technology. A technology with near endless potential. The man had done quite well to keep that hidden up his sleeve.
Tony shook his head loose of the thoughts and swung open the chest compartment of the suit. His finger idly stroked the several open latches around the circular hole at the front. Latches that would transfer the power from an Arc Reactor to the rest of the suit. Theoretically. It was hardly a tested concept. A deep, anxious exhale was pushed out of the man. It would work. He wasn’t an idiot, and the armour suit technology had worked on its own. As did the Arc Reactor. Well, one of them did. It was just a matter of getting them to work together. It was a matter of finally proving that endless, clean energy could actually exist and be used within something with a purpose. It was just a matter of finally proving that Tony was right, after several long, dry years of failures.
Tony waited several moments until the found of his distant garage door could be heard closing. His jaw tightened and he became aware of just how tight his chest was. Almost out of reflex, his hand started digging through a dozen dirty oil rags that he kept on the ground. After a few seconds, his fingers circled around a glass bottle hidden within. His tongue slashed his rapidly drying lips before the rim of the vodka bottle was pressed to them. With a deep scoff afterwards, he took a very long sip. The hitched breathing did not ease fast enough for the man, and there was a second long gulp.
With shaking hands, Tony pulled off his shirt. As he gazed at his reflection in the small mirror perched next to the workbench, his eyes drifted to the glowing mechanism in his chest. He swallowed. With cognitive force, he was able to reach into a small box that he had carried from his pool. Within his hand was a very similar device to that which was in his chest, with some differences. It was more streamlined and angular than the clunky and blunt model keeping his heart safe. The glass was a much harder composition, as well. Nervous fingers tapped along its lightless frame for several seconds. With a clearing of the throat, Tony’s thumb probed its side and pressed hard against a sliding switch. Tony squinted as an overwhelming light escaped the Arc Reactor. The object hummed with life in his fingers and there was some relief discovered. It had worked the previous day, when Tony had finished working on its metal frame, yet there was always the fear of it blowing up in his hand. It didn’t, though. It merely glowed a sharper blue than the white glowing model within Tony’s chest.
He sighed once more. Positioning himself directly in front of the mirror, he took two more swigs of his vodka before reaching towards the egg timer next to the mirror. His finger hesitated. He wasn’t a coward, however. He could help, and the Arc Reactor was the way to do it. He knew it. He just needed to make sure others did, for once. And with that in mind, he flicked the timer on its thirty-six second session. Tony felt his mouth absorb any trace of moisture as he pressed a set of steel tongs to the reactor in his chest. The bars of the metal locked in place, allowing shaking and suddenly sweating hands to turn the reactor for several degrees. There was a click. Tony forgot to breathe as he pulled the thick battery from his chest, the raw flesh and skin within sparking with pain as they were exposed to the air. A cord which connected the reactor to the small magnet deeper within his chest was carefully tugged out. A constant humming that occurred within Tony chest, one that was now only background noise, suddenly ceased. Silence. The reactor was hastily dropped on the bench as its replacement was grasped instantly. Seven seconds. Tony licked his lips, but not relief was found. Trembling fingers pressed the cord into the back of reactor. The humming suddenly rose once more, making Tony sigh and smile widely. Grasping the tongs once more, he held the newer model carefully as he watched his reflection twist it in place. There was a click.
Tony waited several seconds, not knowing what to expect. There was every chance of a stroke, or a heart attack, or just shock. Yet, the only thing that he felt was the numbness in his fingers grow from the alcohol.
“Thank fucking God.” He groaned loudly as he rubbed his eyes.
An overwhelming amount of relief hit him like a wave. His legs felt strange to walk on as he stared at the blue glow with his chest. He had finally managed to make another Arc Reactor. Months to years of pain eased off of his shoulders, making him want to scream in joy. He had finally made another Arc Reactor. An eager, triumphant grin was upon his lips. One that turned to a curious smirk as he turned to the suit dangling several metres away.
Might as well let the dice continued to roll, after all. For within Tony’s mind, why only make one step and not two? Using a nearby stool to stand on, he climbed into the opened chest compartment of the suit. His body stiffened as he let out a tight hiss. It was freezing. More padding was needed. With great care, he slid each leg into the corresponding part of the suit. With a duck of the head, he extended his arms into the armoured holes that they belonged to and felt the heavy metal encase his arms and fingers. Finally, he leaned up and pushed his head through the padded hole that led to the square helmet above.
Darkness. It was snug. Very snug. Very carefully, he slid one arm back out of its armoured sleeve, and tugged at the chest compartment’s front, closing it. Tony stayed very still as he attached several latches into his chest. There was a click. Vibrations flooded the suit and several very tiny screens in front of his eyes hissed with static. Tony winced and, with utter care, moved his right arm to his head. There was more resistance than expected, but he managed to move the arm. The weight of the armour was more of an issue than expected. He would need to either thin it out or work on the weight distribution. A metallic fingertip tapped the side of the helmet several times. It was enough for the small cameras to connect to the blaring screens within the helmet. There was clarity once more and Tony could see. If he had not been wearing a suit of armour that weighed as much as a small rhinoceros, he would have jumped.
The two screens in front of his eyes were very pixelated, but they showed enough to make out that there were four people standing in front of him now. Three very large men standing in pronged formation and a slender woman that was rummaging through his tools without much care at all. The men were standing directly in front of him, each staring at the suit with a very curious set of expressions upon them. The suit seemed to interest them a great deal. Tony cleared his dry throat.
“Didn’t know that…”
He stopped, noticing the tinny sound that was escaping him and the unaffected expressions on his guests faces. He sighed in frustration. This was not the best time for testing secondary systems. He leaned his head forward, pressing his nose between the small screens and feeling a button click. He leaned back.
“Didn’t know that my door was open to guests.” He said, his voice now amplified by a small microphone.
The blonde woman turned to look at Tony with both shock and a stare of being heavily impressed. The others simply eyed him once again, attempting to find any obvious signs of a weakness within the metal man. Three sets of eyes naturally dropped to the glowing source of energy in his chest. Tony took a clunky step back. It felt like trying to move weights with only the tips of your toes. Walking was not easy in the suit at all, it seemed.
“I take it Varnae sent you.”
The four grew curious, and there was a humoured look in the Asian man leading the others. He chuckled and titled his head slightly as he stepped forwards.
“The amazing Tony Stark really does know everything.” He suddenly shook his head, “Nah. Not Varnae.”
The man made a dramatic sighing sound before looking back to his friends with the roll of the head. He grinned smugly and clicked his fingers.
“Short and sweet, boys and girl.”
The three moved faster than the cameras in Tony’s suit could register. He felt them before he understood what was happening. One had somehow latched upon his shoulders, their hands doing their best to rip the helmet off, Tony’s head along with it. Another was trying their best to pull Tony’s arm back behind his spine, yet the weight and strength of the armour was surprising to say the least. The third appeared to be directly in front of the armour. Daggers pretending to be fingers were doing their best to plunge into the reactor and snap it away.
Tony’s heartbeat was all that he could hear. With his eyes squeezed shut, he whispered to himself several times before finding the drive to swing his arm forwards. While there was still significant drawback, the arm generated enough force to collide with the vampire with an impact that resembled a car crash. An agonised scream bellowed from the woman as Tony guessed she flew into either the wall or out the window. Tony did not hesitate. One hand wrapped around where he guessed as the leg of the man standing on his shoulders. He squeezed. It was almost sickening how little substance he felt as he crushed the bones of the person before him. He swung the vampire off of his shoulders, but his head erupted in pain. As the vampire flew, he had managed to dig a fist into Tony’s helmet. The force was enough for a horrific headache to form as the metal pressed into his temples. Judging by the alarm now ringing in his ear, the helmet had also been punctured. He blinked twice, forcing his vision to refocus. One of the monitors had cracked under the pressure of the punch whilst the other was growing more pixelated.
The third vampire, being smart enough to re-evaluate life, skidded back to the leader. The woman limped her way to their line, her hands clutching her wheezing side tightly. Thankfully, it seemed that the one with the broken leg was down for the moment. Tony took several steps forward and did his best to raise his fists as if he were a boxer. The leader was almost amused. There was a faint whisper that the monitor couldn’t pick up. All three of them vanished. Within a second, Tony grunted as two impacts pressed into his sides. Each arm was tightly held by a vampire while the leader wasted no time in slamming his fists near the Arc Reactor. The first punch only dented the armour, but the second managed to pierced within mere centimetres of the reactor. Tony’s entire body became cold as he felt fingertips on his chest. With a frantic scream, he flexed his hand twice. Then twice more. With his body shuddered as the vampire on top of him ripped his hand out and aimed for another strike at the reactor. Tony flexed twice yet again. There was a panicked shout as Tony’s boots erupted into flames. The heavy armour slowly slid forwards, gaining more speed at it went. It was enough to get some distance from the lead vampire and to knock the female away. With a mad energy, Tony threw several blows at the single vampire trying to hold his skidding body in place. The vampire managed to block the first three or so strikes, but the weight of the fourth crashing into his head with a sickening ‘crrnch!’ sent him flying through a wall.
Tony flexed his hands over and over, eventually getting the thrusters to switch off. He rose but screamed as a powerful punch dented his helmet even more. The female hissed with determination as she unleashed several mighty blows to the armoured head, making Tony desperately hold back the violent need to vomit. Almost by accident, he managed to latch onto her throat as he fell forwards but even in his concussed state, he was aware that the leader was kneeling before him. His fist was perfectly aligned with the reactor, but something made him hesitate. Both of the vampires were no longer looking at him. Tony squinted and tried to make out the foggy images within the monitor. There was someone else in the room. Someone very short. Something metal was in her hand. Tony didn’t need to guess as to what it was. A loud hiss was followed by a shot of light slamming into the lead vampire, knocking him into Tony’s body. With his fingers still on the distracted woman, Tony closed his eyes as he aimed a shaking palm to the back of her head. He dug all of his fingertips deep into their gauntlet, feeling five small buttons click. There was a hiss that was identical to the one that he had just witnessed, and his arm erupted in agony as a violent force knocked it back. As he screamed, he noticed the woman that he was holding was now limp.
As she collapsed onto the ground, the lead vampire made one last stroke. With a turn that was faster than the eye could see, his straightened hand cut through the front of Tony’s helmet in a desperate attempt to cut into his face. Had he not been kneeling with a severe burn wound to his chest, he may have reached his target. The fingers only pierced the metal before the pain in his chest became too much, making him halt momentarily. The second was enough for Tony to understand why he was only seeing darkness and why dozens of cuts were suddenly across his face. He didn’t aim. He merely turned his palms forwards and clicked his fingertips against their buttons. There was a muffed scream and the sound of crashing. Then silence.
Tony waited. There was only darkness and the heat of his breath upon his face. A heat that turned suffocating. The man whimpered manically as tapped the chest compartment. It was too damaged. The compartment didn’t pop open. The sounds escaping his mouth turned louder as his armour fingers dug into the steel, desperate to rip it open for clean air and an escape. Something touched his arm. He staggered back, but he was vaguely aware of soft words being spoken. Something touched his arm again. He stayed still as it pulled his limb away from his chest. There was a shoving and pulling sensation for several seconds, and an exhausted scream was heard. Finally, Tony felt cool air on his chest. Within a matter of seconds, he slid his arms out, unlatched the reactor from the suit, and crawled out.
To Tony, the cool air felt like paradise. The pain in his head seemed to disagree, however. He groaned loudly, leaning over as he heavily emptied his stomach. His vision was horrible. Thick clouds danced in front of him. Yet, he could see someone short in green and orange before him. They were touching his shoulders.
“…ny? Tony? TONY?”
“Janet.” The man croaked, “I don’t…feel well.”
As he whimpered, he collapsed onto his workbench. The short woman hastily tapped his face, forcing him to keep his eyes open.
“Do you have a medical kit?”
“It’s my house. Why the fuck…would I keep…in my…”
“Fantastic.” She sighed, still softly slapping the drowsy man awake, “We’re going to the hospital. I’ll need to call Hank.”
“Strange.” Tony suggested, barely aware of his surroundings, “Magic man. Vampires.”
“I saw.” Janet said grimly.
As she did, she held up a metal gauntlet that Tony had tested the repulsor technology with before adding it into the suit. It helped that it was marked ‘Dangerous’ by Jarvis, no doubt what made the woman consider using it as weapon.
“We’ll go to Strange, then.” Janet agreed, “We can regroup there. We’ll grab Hank on the way. Do I need to call Jarvis? Where is he?”
“Stark…building. Labs.” Tony replied groggily, “Need to prepare suit…”
As he attempted to stand, he almost fell once more, had it not been for Janet quickly grabbing his chest and holding him up. She stared at the ruined suit before her, her mouth twitching. It was big, blunt and loud. In other words, Janet was not surprised that Tony had built it. With a deep groan, she pulled him up and placed him back on the bench.
“We can come back for-”
“Van. Garage.” Tony did his best to communicate, but it was clear that his condition was worsening, “Rebuild. At Strange’s.”
Janet looked at the bulking armour once more and simply shook her head.
“Tony, I’m not even a quarter of that thing’s size, you concussed dumbass.”
“Loading trolley in garage.” He shrugged before blinking rapidly, “I need to rebuild it, Janet. Make it…better.”
Janet chewed her lip. There were certainly more vampires out there and Tony was not exactly in the condition to offer much lifting help. Or any help, for that matter. Yet, there was something about a human operated robot suit that seemed somewhat advantageous to bring into a fight with vampires that could run faster than sight could comprehend. She sighed. It was also something that Tony was clearly fixated on, as well.
“Let me call Cap, and then Jarvis. The others should know you were attacked.”
As she spoke, a conch was pulled from her pocket and pressed to her lips. Her face was flushed, as if embarrassed with what she was doing with the shell that her husband had given her. With one hand, she held the shell to her burning ear as she waited, and with the other, she absently slapped Tony several times to make sure he didn’t sleep. If she was lucky, someone could help load the broken suit into the van.
***
“You’re relying too much on your strength, kid.” Steve sighed as he looked down.
Upon his back on the matted ground, a skinny teen was wincing and clutching a well pulled out arm. Both were sweating rather heavily, and Peter sported more bruises than he had ever done so in his life. While he was a quick healer, that meant nothing if each afternoon and evening was met with a training session by a literal super soldier. He was lucky that he could hide most of them when at school. They didn’t need questions being asked as to what was happening in his personal life, especially given his aunt’s mental vacation with friends. Peter was entirely unhappy about still being forced to attend school despite being followed by vampires. There was more important things to do, after all. School seemed trivial by comparison. Yet, Steve was reluctant to let the issue go and Strange seemed ambivalent to the threat of Peter being abducted. In his words, he doubted that ‘Varnae wouldn’t risk exposure by having a student taken from a very public and crowded setting. He’s careful, and not even Frost is that reckless. Stick to crowds.’.
At least, that was what Peter thought Strange had said. The man had resumed mumbling and muttering when communicating, clearly still resentful that his home was now a hotel. To make matters worse, the sorcerer had taken to hiding within his magical domain. Not even Thor could find the man when he chose to disappear behind changing doors or within disappearing corridors. Peter wasn’t too upset by it, however. Not everyone was a people-person, and part of him simply assumed Strange was struggling to overcome his introverted nature. It was more than both Thor and Steve gave their host, however. Both were clearly at their wits’ end with reclusive nature of the sorcerer, especially as they attempted to learn more about their common foe.
“You need to listen, and work on form. What happens when you fight someone stronger than you?” Steve asked, reaching down to pick the teen up.
“Rhino was pretty tough.” Peter shrugged, trying his best to appear humble, “He kinda headbutted me through two apartments.” There was another shrug, “Knocked him through a bank vault and locked him in, though.”
“Did this…Rhino know how to actually block a punch?” Steve asked with a polite smile, “Exactly. Let’s go again. Remember. Absorb the blow with your leg and then deflect the second with your forearm. Use the momentum to throw them off. Stop trying to simply block it. You’re too…stagnate.”
Peter nodded and danced on the tips of his toes to make his body loose once more. Yet, without warning, Steve struck within a second. The back of Peter’s neck tightened and his arms slid to the side almost automatically. His face grimaced heavily as a very thick arm is pushed away from him. It worked. His grin was ruined, however, as he swiftly remembered that there was a kick yet to come. A kick that easily knocked him back to the ground as his legs slid from under him. Steve shook his head.
“Come on, kid. Head in the game.” He said as he reached down, “You’re doing good for a first timer, but your focus is slipping.” Peter blushed as Steve tapped his temple, “It’s the mind that’s fighting. Your body won’t do anything on its own. Remember that. Do well enough, and you won’t get hit. Well, not a lot.” Steve smiled.
Peter braced himself, yet no more blows were received. A hissing sound filled the room, making Steve turn on his heel. A conch marked with many runes was glowing with brilliant colours. With slight fear, the super soldier reached forward. It didn’t burn or bite, unlike most of what was within the magical domain. A moment later, he pressed it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Holy Shit.” He heard Janet mutter, making him smile, “Steve?”
“Steve is here.” He chuckled, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I am, but Tony was attacked,” Peter frowned as he saw how stiff Steve suddenly became, “He’s concussed and wants grumpy magic man to have a look at him. He, uh, needs some equipment taken to the weird apartment place…thing, as well.”
Steve sighed, closed his eyes, and held the conch away from his mouth.
“Strange! Emergency! We need-”
“Stop shouting.” An irritated voice hissed.
At Steve’s side, several fabrics spun and twirled within the air. Fabrics that straightened and stilled in the form of a tall man with a hunched back and a deep glare that was aimed at the super soldier. Peter merely grinned, excited to see the sorcerer once again. Strange rolled his eyes at the teen, but at least didn’t snap at him like he did with the others.
“Could you pick up Janet and Tony from…” Steve put the conch back to his ear, “Where are you?”
“Stark’s house.”
“From his house?”
“Mention the storage stuff.”
“And he needs some space to store some things.
If Strange’s glare could deepen anymore, it would have. He snorted at the entitled question and crossed his arms. The Sanctum was a place of research and utter respect for the mystic arts, not a cargo bay. Yet, before he could form any form of venomous retort, Steve continued to press the man.
“Do you know Stark’s address?”
“I think everyone does.” Peter said lightly, “That massive house by the water. It’s always on those property shows in the afternoon when-”
“I don’t recall agreeing to this.” Strange said, taking a controlled step towards Steve.
“He’s been attacked. We need to regroup in case they’re after all of us.”
“He needs a doctor. You’re a doctor.” Peter’s words seemed to intrigue Steve considerably, evident in the curious glint now forming in his eye.
“I don’t know any doctor that would turn away a patient.” Steve said softly.
There was an odd twitch in Strange’s eyes. Yet again, it was unclear where he would strike one of them or simply storm out of the room again. The erratic sorcerer exhaled from his broad nose loudly, his wired hands clenched at his sides. For the briefest of moments, Peter even felt the back of his neck tighten.
“I will not carry a single screwdriver for the man.”
Steve opened his mouth to berate the man’s callous words, but he never got the chance. The sorcerer stretched his arm to his side and clicked his hand several times as he murmured something. Markings were cut into the air, markings that spat out lines which hunted for the others. Soon, the interwoven lines formed a rectangular door that glowed a savage yellow. With an unimpressed look, Strange bucked his head to Steve. With a sideways glance to Peter, the large man stepped forwards.
“Janet, I’ll be there in a moment.” He said into the conch with great uncertainty.
Before his hand could reach for the markings in the air, he felt his body being pulled by something. There was a violent flash of purple and green, and then darkness. A darkness that eased as his eyes adjusted to the new room that he found himself in. It was a very large courtyard, with a pool glistening in the sunset. Many tools and mechanical parts were tossed here and there, without much care or thought it seemed. Steve eyed everything the best he could, uncomfortable at being tossed into the new location without much warning.
“He really is rich. Cool.”
Steve almost jumped. He turned, seeing Peter looking around with wonder in his eyes. The glowing door was behind the both of them, standing proudly as if it were some bizarre Christmas decoration. The teen, having finished his inspection of the imported small trees that framed the pool, whistled.
“This place is…mad.”
“Makes you wonder if he’s ever thrown a punch before.”
Steve was not overly against those that were wealthy. After all, it was the American Dream to succeed in life and make something of yourself. Yet, Steve could not shake the Brooklyn within him that felt that anyone born like this did not know live without it. A darkly amused part of Steve idly thought of how Tony would handle Normandy, given the usual types of pleasures that he spoiled himself with. Still, the man had done his best when fighting the vampires previously. A small man fighting much bigger ones. It was something that wouldn’t allow Steve to be too harsh on Tony.
The pair did not have to travel far to locate either Janet or Tony. Both were within what Steve guessed was an entertaining area for guests. Well, it was. Most of the walls were dented, if not heaps of debris, and the wall of windows was shattered beyond repair. In front of a colossal suit of armour, sat Tony with Janet at his side. In her hand was a small spray can, from which she sprayed water into Tony’s face several times. The man barely registered what was happening, making Steve quickly run to his side.
“How long has he been like this?” Steve asked.
Janet almost jumped at the voice, but relaxed as soon as she saw who it was. She smiled softly, and returned the small wave that Peter gave her.
“Only a few minutes, but it’s getting worse. I’m trying to keep him awake.”
“Captain.” Tony managed.
“Stark.” Steve said, “We have a…Ah…”
“Dr. Strange made a portal for us.” Peter cut in, his eyes enthralled by the suit of armour that was barely standing.
“Dr. Strange?” Janet scoffed, “Is he a doctor of medicine?”
“Actually, yes.” Peter murmured, his hand tentatively moving forward to touch the armour.
“No.” Tony groaned, “Need…new armour. Don’t touch…kid.”
“Let’s get him out of here.” Suggested Steve, his arm already pulling Tony to his feet, “What do you need us to bring?”
Tony grimaced as if in deep pain.
“Armour. Notes in bedroom. Jarvis.”
“I’ll call Jarvis now.” Janet said softly before turning to Steve and Peter, “We need to pick Hank and Jarvis up.”
“Green lady.” Tony added.
“Yeah,” Peter said, encountering something that managed to drag his attention away from the amazing armour before him, “Jen. If Tony’s under attack, she might be too. Same with Hank.”
Janet looked down, suddenly growing very anxious. She had already been away for several hours, more than enough time to be attacked. After seeing the abilities of the fantastical creatures only minutes ago, the woman found herself very sickened.
“I’ll use the phone in Tony’s room. I’ll grab his notes. What tools do you need?”
Tony managed to lazy gesture to practically everything in the room. Steve sighed, but Peter eagerly grabbed everything in reach and ran to the portal, apparently keen on making as many trips as he could. Steve could only smile. The kid had heart. Without much struggle, Steve pulled Tony along his side and towards the portal. Tony only mumbled and grumbled, his eyes foggy and lazy as he did his best to stay on his feet. In many ways, it reminded Steve of the boxing days of his youth. Days when the skinny teen would be pulverised by much bigger kids to the point of barely being able to remember the day.
The concussed man barely registered the portal, yet when he found himself pulled across space itself, he promptly vomited on Strange’s carpet. The sorcerer clicked his tongue but managed to restrain himself. With a wave of his hand, the sick vanished from the carpet and thick suds burst onto the fabric. His expression eased, much to Steve’s relief, as he herded Tony onto a seat. Shaking hands waved over the dazed inventor, and Strange began to murmur strange words into the air.
“He’s fine. Just a moderate concussion. His brain hasn’t swelled yet, thankfully.”
“Given the house he has, I think it’s swollen enough.”
Strange laughed, taking Steve by surprise. It was a deep, throaty sound but it wasn’t sarcastic or malicious. His handlebar moustache creased as his smile faded. The sorcerer drew several runes into the air and tapped them all, making them glow a bright blue. Each slowly floated towards Tony and sunk into his head. The man gasped, as if a great pressure was eased from within. His body became slack, dipping down the seat so much that Steve needed to hold him upright again.
“I’ll get some manticore tooth. It’ll make sure there’s no blood clots to worry about.”
Strange made an attempt to walk away, but stopped as he noticed that there was a hand aimed at him. Steve was smiling softly.
“Thank you. I know you’re not…in the best position here, but I appreciate this. So will he, when he remembers.”
Strange eyed the hand as if assessing whether or not it was a knife in disguise. His eyes flicked back to Steve.
“I’ll find somewhere for his…equipment.” Strange muttered, his body hastily marching towards the door.
“Wait. Wait!” Peter called.
The teen dropped the dozens of tools that he was holding onto the floor, making Strange seethe once more. Peter blushed, quickly understanding the rudeness, but hastily walked towards the man.
“We need to find Jen.” He said urgently, “She could be attacked already. We need to go. Now.”
“You’ve been swinging every night.” Strange sneered, “Found her yet? No? What makes you think that I will?”
“Because you’re a fucking wizard.”
The three turned to see Tony groaning as he rubbed his eyes and temples. Steve didn’t know what to say. The man’s cuts to the face and neck had all but healed. Colour had returned to his cheeks. The dazed look in his eyes was now mere annoyance, if anything. To make matters worse, he was even able to stand on his feet. It was all enough for Strange to regret not using a less advanced medical incantation. Tony smiled tightly, his body still ripe with some pain as he slapped Steve’s shoulder loudly.
“Thanks for the assist, Cap. Had them on the ropes, though. Four on one, too.”
“I saw the armour. Freaking awesome!” Peter grinned and Tony’s own smile widened.
“Yeah? Built it to one up those pricks.” Tony suddenly stopped, all colour draining, “My armour. We need to bring it here. I need to rework some things.”
“I can try to lift it.” Steve suggested with mild unease, “Might need Thor to…Where is Thor?”
The giant Aesir was standing as if he were a mountain within one of the seating areas that overlooked the city. It was a pleasant view, if one ignored the mould on the windows. Yet, Thor cared little about seeing the many human crowds or beautiful buildings. His gaze was locked on the small, redheaded vampire that was squirming on her cushioned chair. While he had not laid any hands on her, his uncomfortably intense eyes hit her like a punch would. The god’s movements were few, yet each gave Jackie enough cause to flitch. Her anxiety was not helped that he was almost double her size and stood beside a very fearsome hammer. When he spoke, it was with a low yet very booming voice.
“I do not question your fear of the demon.” He repeated, “I question why you know so little of where he hides.”
Jackie continued to look at her knees. Looking into the eyes of a god required courage that she simply lacked, especially given how easily he had overcome her when they quarrelled. Reaching down, she took a long sip of the straw connected to a foam cup. A thick, red liquid shot through the straw and it was enough to soothe her slightly. She always had been a panic eater. It was a miracle that she wasn’t obese by the age of twelve.
“He kept us separated. He didn’t want anyone knowing anything. I saw him maybe three times? He bit me and made me drink his blood.” Her small nose wrinkled, “Then, he came twice to observe how many had survived after a few days. It was usually Theo or Edward that looked after us. They said nothing about Varnae, either.”
Thor stared at her silently, weighing her words carefully. After seeing no intended lies, he began to stroke his beard as he often had done during their discussions. It was less of a discussion and more of an interrogation, in Jackie’s opinion. They would often begin by Thor cornering her, a remarkable feat given her senses. Questions would then be asked, and remaining silent was not wise. She did not want to test the god’s patience. Yet, many of the questions were the same, with only slightly changes in wording. At first, she thought Thor was attempting to catch her in a lie. Yet, after many days, she was beginning to question what he was evening doing when talking to her. Part of her guessed that he was simply bored or lonely.
“Who fed you?”
“We did. We were watched by Theo or Edward, though, to make sure we were subtle. A few almost fed in daylight, and Theo was usually the one to rip their heads off in front of us.” Her voice became weak, “It happened more than once.”
“They lack discipline.” Thor murmured, “For now. No mention of a plan or purpose. Mindless wandering and feeding.” Thor’s stroking of the beard halted, “As if waiting to be unleashed like hounds.”
Jackie frowned, thinking over the suggestion. While she never thought of herself like a dog, the analogy certainly made some sense. They had been kept in close quarters and only let out to eat. They were barely trained outside of how to use their heightened senses. Oversight was left to middle management. Many just assumed Varnae could see and hear all. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he simply had better things to worry about aside from such lowly beings as his pets and creations.
“Thor.”
The pair turned to see Steve eyeing them both curiously. The god nodded politely, turning to face the man. Jackie cleared her throat and did her best to hide the cup full of blood that Strange had taken from his reserves.
“Want to stretch some legs and arms?”
“More foes to challenge?” Thor asked in an almost analytical tone.
“We need to move Tony’s, uh, suit of armour.”
Rather than seem deflated, Thor simply nodded. With a soft grunt, he lifted his hammer and left towards the direction that Steve had clearly come from. Jackie smiled awkwardly while Steve gave her a polite expression.
“Holding up well?”
“As well as I can.” Was the soft response.
“You’ll be fine. Who knows? Maybe Varnae or Strange will have a cure.”
A bitter snort left the girl as she rose to her feet. While not angry at the captain per say, she was not entirely happy at the comment. She had long since given up on the prospect of going to college, working, dating, and doing stupid things. There was something about being a blood sucking monster that dampened those ideals.
“We’ll see.” She said mournfully, “We’ll see.”
Before Steve could utter more words of comfort, Peter was at his side. His eyes were locked on Jackie with such intensity that the vampire almost wanted to step back. With a long finger, he pointed at her face.
“You can smell really good right?”
Jackie blinked several times. She turned to Steve, who shrugged, and looked back at the excited teen.
“I can smell, yes.”
“Dr. Strange!” Peter shouted, and both Steve and Jackie were aware of a slight grunt that could be heard, “You can help us find Jen. You can smell her!” He paused, suddenly remembering something, “You remember what she smelt like, right?”
***
Jen chewed her lip tightly as she peered around the door of the ‘records room’. It wasn’t really a room, more a cupboard that could fit several filing cabinets that held records on previous cases. While what she was doing wasn’t illegal or against company policy, it wasn’t exactly smiled upon when junior staff members peaked at other attorney’s documents and notes without permission. Still, Jen felt as if she couldn’t exactly mention her vampire theory to everyone without being laughed at more than she usually was or without being fired entirely. It was for that reason that she was cramped several sheets of paper into her satchel. As she neared the photocopier, a nervousness overcame her. It was a small building, with only about fifty people on her floor, most of which weren’t even part of her legal team. She doubted that anyone would ask questions. But there was a guilt, or even naughtiness, to acting like some sort of spy and sneaking information. It almost made her giggly as she hastily scanned as many documents as she could.
As she did so, her chest tightened considerably as she became aware of someone standing behind her. Samantha puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly, clearly already bored as the single photocopier was already being used. Much to Jen’s relief, Samantha didn’t seem interested whatsoever in what Jen was copying. In fact, she seemed rather irritated at how long it was taking. Jen cleared her throat and smiled as normally as she could. It was clearly a poor attempt, given the odd look she received in return.
“Copying, too?”
“Yep.” Samantha said with a polite smile.
“Cool, cool.” There was an awkward pause but Jen made herself continue, “Good weekend?”
“Same old, same old. Just went out for dinner with my boyfriend. Watched a hockey game. That kind of thing. You?”
Jen’s eye twitched and she used the time needed to swap documents on the scanner to come up with a believable lie.
“Went on walks with my dog. And, uh,” Her cheeks flushed as proper words seemed to disappear from her vocabulary, “Also watched some hockey.”
“Oh?” Samantha’s brow raised, “What team do you follow?”
“The…yellow one.” Samantha’s brow raised even further, “New to the sport.”
After that, any chance of Jen being able to revive the conversation simply died. The lack of social confidence led to the woman turning her back to Samantha and swiftly scanning as much paper as she could as quickly as she could. She was only idly aware that Samantha had mumbled something about ‘coming later’, leaving Jen to wince as she replayed the previous several sentences over in her mind dozens of times. As she replayed them more and more, the speed of which she scanned grew. By the end, she had almost shattered the device.
“You seem eager.”
Jen swore under her breath as her entire body shook. With deep breaths, she cooled herself out of a transformation and turned to see a much older man sipping coffee and staring at her blanky. Dillon. One of the more senior members of the firm with grey hair and round cheeks, and one of the more blunt individuals that she had to work with. During her interview into the firm, Dillon had taken to asking such lovely questions as to her views on murder, self-defence, child abuse and abductions. While she thought they related to her sense of legal professionalism, it was later revealed by another colleague that Dillon was simply described as weird.
“Working on some cases. The Lincoln stuff.”
“Lincoln. Lincoln.” Dillon stared into his coffee, “Murdered his best friend. Nasty one.”
“I don’t think he did it.” Jen said, before she could stop herself.
Dillon gave her an almost patronising look before sipping his coffee again. He sighed as if bracing himself to give a lecture and turned to give her a rather creepy stare.
“Look, most of these guys will throw their kids under a bus if it means saving them from jailtime. You’ll see that as you get more cases. You’re new here. Don’t be naïve.” He took a step closer, “If you need any help with the case, we can go over the discovery notes at m-”
“I am…I am very good.” The brunette said, her throating seizing as she hurriedly placed all of her documents in her satchel, “I will…I will take what you said on board. I need to review the depositions. Lincoln’s day in court is only a few weeks away.”
Before anything else was said, Jen was practically running to the records room once more. Her face red and her lips taut, her mind recounted every moment of counselling that instructed her on how to calm herself when socially overwhelmed. Social interaction was a good thing. It was healthy. Dillon was not healthy. Balance. That was all that Jen, and her counsellor, wanted. Was that so difficult to achieve? People were either too difficult to talk to or too easy. It didn’t help that the last person that she could actually hold a conversation with was a teenager. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the thought. She was still grumpy at Peter’s restraint in mentioning his age. Maybe it was time for speed dating, but for friends. Surely speed friending existed in some form.
As she returned to her apartment door, Jen’s mood had not improved. Her social interactions of the day had not improved. In an attempt at starting a conversation with a co-worker, Jen had attempted to tell a joke about a rabbit. A joke that she forgot the punchline to, making it appear as if she was simply really invested in rabbits. Her attempts at buying chocolate were ruined by her shy mumbling at the counter, resulting in the attendant barking at her in a strange language. All in all, it had not been the best day for her social skill development. But, in the words of her journal, there was always tomorrow for improvement.
“Hey sweetie.” Jen mumbled as the loud snorts of Maxxie filled the room that she entered, “Din dins? Yeah, it’s din dins time.”
As she threw the last slice of cucumber into her mouth, Jen squinted at her wall. A small map of the state was lined with seven dots where seven clients had recently claimed to have been victims of a monster attack that they were framed for. Scribbles of shared facts or similarities between testimonies were pinned to it as well, yet there was little else of use. There was no pattern, like usual. Now that she knew that they were magical vampires, tracking them was almost impossible. The testimonies had become retrospectively very interesting, however. Many had commented on the speed and brutality of something ripping a person apart in front of them. They attacked in groups, which didn’t surprise Jen at all. The remains were nothing short of something a lion or tiger would leave, implying that they were clumsy eaters or didn’t know how to kill with precision. The victims also appeared to have a few, yet very broad, set of connections. Many were alone or in pairs when someone observed their deaths. Some were homeless, and many others very poor. All areas were in dark places, but that wasn’t unusual with murders.
A damp feeling took Jen back to her apartment. She peered down, seeing Maxxie lazily lick her palm as she rested on her lap. The woman smiled as she stroked her roommate’s back, her eyes flicking back to the wall. Perhaps there was a way to use their feeding habits against them? Something to draw them out. They were akin to pack hunters, and packs could be manipulated. Well, that’s what the many documentaries that she watched as a child claimed. As well as those that she watched as an adult.
Her musings were ended by the soft sound of her door knocking. Maxxie sprung up, barking with delight at the prospect of a new friend. Jen hastily ran to put the dog in her room, her stomach taut with fear. She had been fine thus far. While there had been little to no sleep, no one had attacked her or tried to bite her in her sleep. She could travel from home to work and vice versa. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t a deep feeling of fear in her gut as she slowly stepped forwards.
“Who is it?” She asked, her eye reaching the peak hole.
Her throat left out a shocked gasp as a hand punched through the door and cut off her air. Before she could understand what was going on, her locked door was snapped open as if it was Lego. Nine very finely dressed individuals sauntered in while one behind the door threw her to the ground and withdrew his arm from the door to close it behind them. Each of her limbs was instantly held stretched out and there was another set of hands on her throat. A tall woman with dark features stared at her as if she was deeply disappointed in Jen. She even scoffed and turned to a man that was staring at the map on Jen’s wall.
“I thought you said that she was green.” The woman stated in a British accent.
“Boss man said that she was.” He turned to eye Jen with such intensity that Jen felt sick, “She’s kind of a bland, no?”
“Is it the right girl?” A blonde woman asked, leaning into the darker woman’s ear, “We might not have gotten the right scent.”
“She smells off.” The man holding Jen’s left arm said, “Something weird. Might be a mutant, though.”
The woman in charge turned to eye Jen again. It became clear to the struggling woman that the leader was questioning why she was even in the apartment to begin with. They had clearly been expecting something else. Doubt crept over her face and she turned to the equally puzzled blonde. She nodded to the man by Jen’s cheap record player, encouraging him to turn blaring music on to cover their voices.
“We can’t take chances. If it’s not her, than it’s not our fault that we’ve killed-”
“What the fuck is this thing?”
To Jen’s horror, a short man was holding a terrified Maxxie without the needed care for such a delicate dog. Maxxie gagged if you walked her too fast, but now she was being held by the scruff of her collar and wheezing. There was a wave of mocking laughter that filled the house. Even the supposed leader grinned at the sight of the struggling dog.
“Leave her alone!” Jen shouted, her heartbeat rising, “She’s a pug.”
“Christ.” The man holding Maxxie shook his head, “Thing can barely breathe. I mean, look at it! What did you breed to get this thing? It’s ethical just to snap its neck and let it breathe normally in heav-”
As he was speaking, his hand travelled to Maxxie’s throat. His attention snapped away from Maxxie as the sound of two sets of violent gagging entered the room. The vampires holding Jen’s arms down hastily threw punch after punch into her chest and face. Their eyes bulged as they flailed in Jen’s grip, becoming all the more frantic in their desperate assaults as their throats were crushed. Jen barely recognised the pain. What pain she felt, she merely ignored as it grew more numb to her. Her breathing was manic and deranged, her mind only on the sight before her. It was due to that fact that Jen was not aware that her skin was shifting into an emerald colour and her body had expanded beyond that of a normal human’s. It was due to that fact that Jen was not aware that her grip on two throats was so tight that there was two motionless people in her hands. The vampire at her throat did his best to choke her out, but her muscles in her neck resisted too well. Opting for a different tactic, he swung his arms around and positioned himself to snap her neck. A large hand clasped his formed and squeezed. His agonised screams filled the room.
“Here we go.” The vampire holding Maxxie murmured, grinning as he watched Jen kick away the vampires holding her legs.
She leapt onto her feet just as something crashed into her chest. A pained gasp escaped as her ribs erupted in thick pain. Jen remained on her feet, however. With a downward punch to the head, her body was freed from the woman attempting to tackle her to the ground. Jen was able to take a step forwards and collide a thick punch into the leader’s jaw, but the others were simply too fast. Even Jen had her limits. As the leader flew across the floor, Jen’s legs were pulled out from under her. Rough arms wrapped around her own and jerked them back, making her cry out and kick aimlessly at however was behind her. She was able to land a blow to whoever was behind her, but others grabbed her leg. A surprised shout left the emerald giant as something pieced her Achilles. A disgusted gagging sound was heard immediately afterwards and as she was flipped onto her back, she saw one of the vampires trying desperately not to vomit. His mouth was stained with a thick green colour, and he glared at her venomously.
“Just rip her fucking head off already.” The leader barked, clutching her bleeding nose, “We’ll give it to the new boss. Brand wants it done quickly.”
“A shame though,” The man still holding Maxxie mused, “She is hot as fuck.”
The leer that he gave Jen’s torn clothes and exposed skin was revolting. Had there not been seven vampires doing everything they could to hold her down, she would have beaten him rather severely. But, she was hardly in a position to do anything. A boot was pressed to her throat and her limbs were being pulled so tightly that she was gasping in pain. The man holding Maxxie tossed her thoughtlessly to the ground and smirked as he walked towards her. Jen’s body shook and she writhed violently as he stood behind her head. With one last glance as the well developed bust that was leaking from her ruined clothing, he kneeled behind her and placed his hands to her head. Hands that were very still. Hands that spasmed several times. Hands that fell away.
From her position on the floor, Jen could make out several pairs of eyes widening before two of them let go of their target. With maddening speed, they disappeared from Jen’s view, only to scream loudly. Jen almost vomited. A decapitated head idly rolled in the corner of her eye. The leader charged forwards, but something wrapped around her ankles and made her collide with the floor. More released her. Enough that she could whip her arm away from a vampire and smash into the nearest woman’s side, causing a feral scream to escape her. Another tried to crawl onto her chest and try his luck at slicing into her throat with his fangs. A long figure dived at him, however, knocking them body to the side. A sleek material was shot from the taller person, holding the other in place as a swirl of red vines came out of nowhere and cut into the vampire. Jen closed her eyes as he was abruptly severed in six places.
“You okay?” A deeply worried voice asked.
Jen looked up to see a very familiar face leaning over her. While he lacked any form of actual medical training, that didn’t stop Peter from doing his best to identify any wounds. Much to Jen’s gratitude, her healing capabilities were already mending things. His hand was extended to her.
“I’m fine, Pete.” She murmured as she allowed him to pull her up, “Nothing like my apartment being ruined and almost getting your head torn off.”
“They usually slice necks. You must have been a special concern.” A dower voice observed.
Jen turned to see Strange standing awkwardly and very uncomfortably in the corner. His handlebar moustache twitched slightly, and Jen stepped back as she took notice of his surroundings. Two of the vampires were now stone statues. Another was…a blob of flesh and skin that was resting his feet. Several more were impaled by glowing swords. The leader of the group was lying motionless on the ground, runes burnt into her entire body. Peter’s mouth gaped at the display, making Strange roll his eyes.
“Would you prefer that I’d have talked them down over some tea?” He asked before dissolving into mutters.
“They’ve attacked Tony Stark, too.” Peter said, his face creased with deep concern, “I, uh, guessed that you might be nice.”
Had Jen been in her normal appearance, she would have blushed and mumbled something about being grateful. Instead, she managed a grateful nod.
“Thank you. That’s…You saved my life.” Peter shrugged modestly, “Both of you.”
“Actually,” Peter pointed to the door, “It was her that found you.”
Strange turned to the door and muttered something in what Jen guessed was warning. Almost begrudging, another figure stepped into the apartment. A short, redheaded woman with round cheeks and a very short nose. Jen only vaguely recognised her as the woman in Strange’s house that served tea before running away. She stood with her hands behind her back and stared into the ground.
“She sniffed you out.” Strange murdered as he waved his hands over the bodies.
One by one, they dissolved into thin air. Before Jen could thank him, Peter grunted and pointed to the many cracks and dents within the walls. Strange seemed to glare at him for a moment, but a second hand motion was soon made. Cracks were sealed. Dents were pulled out to an even level. Within three seconds, Jen’s house looked spotless. Well, fixed at least. It was still very messy.
“Thank you.” She said quietly, “Again.”
Strange said nothing, but managed the smallest of nods before looking away uncomfortably. A look of discomfort that turned into annoyance as he looked at his feet. Excited snorts could be heard as Maxxie danced around Strange’s boots, licking them every so often in an attempt to get his attention. Jen beamed. Without a moment’s hesitation, she raced towards her pet, scooped her up, and began to whisper soft words. Maxxie licked her twice before wiggling so that she could bark excited at Strange again. She only received a very blank stare back.
“We’re staying at Strange’s magic place.” Peter said eagerly, “We all are. Safety and stuff.” He added, crossing his arms, “Even Tony.”
“Grab your things.” Strange said impatiently, “We need to pick up the Pyms as well. It seems…I own a fucking hotel now.”
“Please.” Peter scoffed before grinning, “Admit it. You like the company.”
“Peter, the only reason I haven’t banished you to another reality is because it would attract cosmic beings that I’d have to face.”
Peter laughed, shaking his head. Jen gently placed Maxxie on the ruined sofa and quickly pulled down her map and notes. Soon, her business briefcases were crammed with the copies and notes that she had been collecting over the past week. She could worry about work later, when she wasn’t being attacked by hungry vampires. As she turned back to the others, she noticed that a cloak was wrapped around her. From shoulder to bare toe, she looked as if she was a character in a medieval play. With a tilt of her head, the green woman turned to Strange.
“Half of your ass was on display and your shirt would qualify as floss.” Jen’s face went a very dark green and she mumbled dozens of apologies at once, “I suggest buying more…expandable clothing.”
“Clothing doesn’t stretch that much.” Jen grunted, reliving many mental conversations that she had shared with herself, “It’s all well and good finding something that can expand when you grow, but it can barely move when you do. They always damn well tear, showing the goods to criminals. Not that they complain. It’s a nightmare.” Jen sighed, feeling a lot better that she had actually said it to another person.
The frustration of finding anything that suited her green self was something that words could not describe. Nothing worked for both practicality and for covering her body in a way that didn’t make her look like a stripper. It was humiliating for the shy woman. It didn’t help that whatever attire that she did wear during her patrols at night were often torn or ruined within a fortnight.
“I liked the purple stretching thing?” Peter said, earning three sets of judgemental stares, “If it makes anyone feel better, I also have the exact issue.”
“You’re as skinny as a stick.” Jackie whispered before should stop herself, making Strange snort.
“Finish packing. You can discuss fashion difficulties when I’m done erasing the memories of violent noises from her neighbours.” Strange grunted, marching from the house.
***
“…n’t seem to pinpoint what it is. Your body just doesn’t seem to be flushing it out of your system. Janet thinks she’s found something, though. In fact, she’s very confident that…”
Hank smiled at the right times. He nodded when their needed to be confirmation. He repeated information when appropriate. He was not listening. His mind wandered to his formula again and again, only brought back by momentary social requirements. Howl was a good man and a good friend, but he frankly knew nothing about what he was talking about when it came to the Pym Particle. His attempt at lecturing Hank whilst showing medical tests meant little to Hank. They were only minor side effects of a significant achievement, and not something that justified pausing the entire research. He loved Jan dearly and knew that she was hesitating out of concern. It was clear to Hank that Howl was simply being a lapdog to her, however.
“That’s good.” Hank nodded, noticing silence, “I’ll come by in two days for some more tests.”
“I’d appreciate that.” The owl-headed man said, “We’ll get through this, I promise.”
As he spoke, he clasped Hank’s shoulder. It made Hank want to flinch. The man had the arrogance to touch him after lying about his work. It made Hank sick, but he played the game. He took the sampling tests that Howl gave him and followed Howl to the door, smiling and faking several laughs as he did so. By the time that the door was shut behind Howl, Hank felt a deep need to vomit or bathe. The arrogance of the man. Minor chemical imbalances in the brain were not something to be worried about. There were many minor and perfectly treatable conditions that displayed similar traits. There was no cause to ignore the Pym Particles because of it. Every advancement had some risks, and Hank was very willing to take those risks upon himself for the rest of humanity. A small grin formed at the thought. Maybe others would recognise such a risk that he had taken, and it would be remembered.
His eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall. Janet was late. She was due to be home before the Howl had finished discussing the brain scans. She had taken to ensuring Hank was never left alone, making him grunt in frustration. He was not her pet, he was her husband. Even she was wearing on him. The constant observations, questions about past investments, requests to see his work on the formula. He wasn’t an idiot, and being treated as such was simply insulting. A hot flush shot through his spine as he walked into the bathroom. Reaching behind the faucet, he sat down and eyed the thick red chemical in his shaking hands. His lips were dry. Pulling an inhaler from his pocket, he switched canisters. There was no mind about not being able to breathe once shrunken. There was no concern over his body’s uneven exposure to the chemical. There was only the desire to feel as strong as he did with the substance pumping through his system. He had been able to sneak the suit on several times during the week, but Jan had hidden the suit somewhere else. He didn’t have time to find it before she returned. He could survive. His body had adjusted. While there had been no tests on the matter, he simply knew it. His frustrations, anger, agitation. It would all end once the Particle soothed him.
“Hank! We have a guest.”
“No. No. No. No. No.” Hank cried, leaning into his knees and silently hitting his legs.
Janet was the bane of his life. She couldn’t even leave him alone long enough for a single puff. With a deep, angry sigh, he wiped his moist eyes and hid the vial back behind the faucet. He took several seconds to calm himself, but when he heard a second call for him, his stomach turned with heated anger. His master was calling. A master that was ruining his research, just like the others. With a false smile, he walked into the main area of his home lab. His smile faded within a second. Stark. Tony Stark was next to Janet. He seemed to be taking stock of what Hank was working on. His greasy fingers stroked several notes on Hank’s personal desk, his eyebrows raised almost mockingly. It made Hank seethe.
“Stark.”
Tony turned, smiling as he did so. Hank had always hated that smile. He was too confident.
“Hank. Here to help grab some stuff for you. Given I’m the only other scientist in the group, Jan though-”
“Why are we taking things?” Hank looked at Janet.
“Tony was attacked. The…Was her name Jen? Jen may have also been. We’re meeting at Strange’s to figure out what to do next. As a group.”
“As a group.” Hank’s eyes slowly turned to Tony, “You look well for a vampire attack.”
Tony chuckled and put his hands in his pockets.
“Magic man, for his moodiness, knows his stuff. Besides, my armour helped a lot.”
There was a smirk to his face as he mentioned the last sentence. Hank, despite all of his restraint, took the bait.
“Armour?”
“Built an exo-suit powered by an Arc Reactor. A second Arc Reactor.”
Hank’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he glanced at Janet, but she was busy pulling documents, research notes, and financial charts into multiple suitcases that were at her feet. He turned back to Tony.
“You…You finally made another…reactor?”
Tony grinned. Pulling up his shirt, he allowed Hank to see the much sharper blue object in his chest. Hank blinked several times, unsure of what to think.
“That desperate to one-up me?” Hank hissed.
“Hank, not now.” Janet groaned absently, her attention still on carefully placing several dozen vials into a specialised case.
“Couldn’t let me have the Pym Particle, could you?”
Tony gave a very strange look. He was almost sizing Hank up for a moment, an appraising gaze meeting Hank’s look of misplaced defiance. Even if it was a guess, Tony had to admit Hank was correct. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t Hank’s achievements that flared his own insecurity. What took Tony by surprise was the fact that it seemed to go both ways, though.
“We’re fighting fucking vampires here, Hank. I’m not a giant green chick, or Spider-Virgin, or even you.” The last part tasted like bile on Tony’s tongue, “I need something to survive this, so yeah, I built another fucking reactor. Deal with it.”
“Tony.” Janet hissed, “Enough, the both of you.”
Neither listened. Hank could barely register her words. Tony’s own had fostered too much heat in his chest for that. A heat that made his hands and feet feel numb.
“Is that why you’re here? To steal my work to survive?”
Tony leaned back, not understanding how that conclusion was even reached. Janet finally stood away from her back, eyeing her husband with deep concern.
“Hank, we’re not even in the same field of science. Why the fuck would I try to steal-”
“Your entire company was built off the work of others. Still is. Mostly your dad’s.”
Tony’s eyes became very cold. His lip twitched twice, and he felt his fingers digging into his forearm.
“Says the man whose wife built him Pym Technologies.” Tony said coldly, “Even the Pym Particles are being reworked by her now.”
The look that Janet gave Tony was simply murderous. Even Tony felt extremely uncomfortable and shameful the sheer weight of the glare that he was receiving. Janet was not a violent woman, but she was very close to seeing how much of Tony’s nose she could break. When she looked back to Hank, she saw a very pale man shaking ever so slightly in his shoes. Her stomach sank in both concern and fear.
“You’re…” He cleared his throat, “You’re reworking my particles?”
“Hank,” Janet began carefully, “It’s not stable, honey. There’s something in there that’s still playing with your head. Even the mice have shown some pretty severe cognitive side effects to the current formula. I’m just…revising one of the chemicals to see if-”
“If you can take credit of my work.” Hank said, his voice breaking, “Or let him do it.”
Janet’s entire face dropped.
“No.” She whispered, “No, sweetie. I want this to be your invention. I don’t care anymore. I just want my husband bac-”
“He’s still here!” Hank snapped, making her jump.
“Hank, cool it.” Tony said, recovering enough to have some calmness to his voice.
“Oh, Tony Stark acting as moderator.” Hank chuckled, “Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.”
Hank eyed them both, suddenly looking very sick. A sickness that turned to miserable rage.
“You’re fucking, aren’t you?”
Janet’s entire body stilled. Even Tony looked shocked by the comment.
“What?” Janet asked, her voice rising as her eyes narrowed.
“I wish.” Tony mumbled to himself.
“Are you…You dare…Are you fucking kidding me?” Janet screamed, but Hank only nodded.
“It’d make sense, given you’re helping him still my work.”
“For the love of…Hank, I don’t fucking care about shrinking things.” Tony snapped.
“You’re sick.” Janet said through gritted teeth, “You’re having an episod-”
“Stop telling me I’m sick!” Hank bellowed and, before anyone could stop him, a vial rack was thrown into a wall, “I’m me. I’m not diseased. I’m stronger than any of you. Okay? All you want is to stop this. I helped Captain America. I saved you Stark!”
“You’re killing yourself, you idiot.” Tony sighed, “I mean, look at yourself. You can barely stand, you’re as white as death, and your memory is fucked.”
“You need medical help.” Janet said firmly.
“Of course. Tag team me.” Hank chuckled lowly before marching forwards, “How long have you been…Have you been…”
Hank’s face mellowed into confusion as his voice drifted off. His steps became stumbles and, with a misaimed arm reaching out to a table, he fell. Janet ran forwards, her eyes watering as she rolled Hank onto his back. He was still breathing, yet his eyes were rolling and it was clear that he no longer knew where he was. Janet closed her wet eyes, shaking her head as she curled into Hank’s upper chest.
For Tony, it was one of the moment uncomfortable moments in his entire life. He knew what he was seeing. The slow decline in mobility. A probable numbness throughout the body. Defensive mode swings. Paranoia blurring fact and fiction. Jarvis noted the exact same actions from Tony for many months prior. As Tony watched Janet sob into her husband, all he could do was ponder what Jarvis had felt watching him do the same as Hank. The man that had known him since birth. The man that cleared his sickness from mats and rugs, and who had taken him to hospitals more times than Tony could honestly remember. Hank was addicted. It was all enough for Tony’s breathing to tighten and for him to need to look away.
“He’s not okay.” Tony said in a staggered way.
“He’s not like this.” Janet said as she rubbed Hank’s cheeks with her thumbs, “He’s…He’s not…”
“I know.” Tony sighed, “Go get the research. I’ll watch him.” Janet didn’t move, “Jan. Come on.”
With a light kiss to his head, Janet managed to pull herself away from Hank. With scuttling feet, she ran off to the various offices and mini labs to finish collecting their work. Tony exhaled deeply as he gingerly sat next to Hank. The man was still out of it, his body occasionally jolting every now and then. It was still very difficult for Tony to watch, so he merely stared at his feet. He was idly aware of Janet placing several cases and bags next to the pair. One of which was labelled ‘Peter’. Curiously, he waited for Janet to run off to the nearby house and peaked inside. There was a strange red and blue fabric within, but Tony quickly lost interest as he heard a grunt.
“I…Stark?”
He looked down to see a very bloodshot Hank staring at him with complete confusion. His eyes were unfocussed and barely opened, and it was clear that he was fading in and out of consciousness. Carefully, Tony leaned on his side so that he was closer to where Hank could see him.
“It’s me, man.” He said lightly, “You should get some rest. Jan’s worried about you.”
There was a pause, leading Tony to think that Hank had once more slipped into slumber. A grunt broke that belief.
“I wanted to…be you.”
Tony let of a deep breath of air that he didn’t know that he was holding. For some unknown reason, the comment was enough to make him lower his head in shame. Hank’s eyes were completely shut, his breathing smooth and even. That was good. It meant that he would not be awake to see Tony rubbing his face.
“No one should be me.”
***
A/N: Hi all!
Sorry for the delay, work kicked up a bit before the end of the year. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! And thank you all for reading so far in. It’s really fantastic and amazing to see, to be honest. I hope the Hank breakdown wasn't too rush this chapter, and the characters and pacing are all flowing nicely.
Next chapter will see the whole team interact as a whole, and work out the best ways to target Varnae. We will also see more of Varnae’s motivations (which I ran out of space here), and some general interactions between everyone.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you have any suggestions or feedback, send a kudos or a comment. It’s really awesome to see them all, and makes my week. Otherwise, I hope you all have a great Christmas and a happy new year!
Fact of the chapter: A strawberry is not an actual berry, but a banana is. By technical definition, a berry is a fleshy fruit produced from a single seed. The strawberry, however has its dry, yellow "seeds" on the outside
Chapter 9: Alone in Power
Chapter Text
It was within a numb, heavy body that Janet returned to the Sanctum Santorum. Her eyes were blank, staring at nothing and anything. What usual warmth that flooded them for so many to see was dried, emptied of any confident strength that they always held. Behind her, Strange followed through the recently summoned portal. His mood was as a dower as usual, yet he managed to restrain any remarks of his displeasure. At least, he did so in front of Janet. Behind him, Hank’s unconscious and levitating body was resting five feet off of the ground. As peaceful as he was in his sleep, his face was still hollow, and his body gave out unsettling jerks every few minutes.
A series of suitcases and specialised storage crates followed behind, many carrying a ‘Pym Technologies’ insignia to them. A very sombre Tony was last through the portal. His head was lowered as he scratched the back of it. Since the last murmured discussion with Hank, the inventor had been at a loss for words. It was not often that a mirrored reflection of what you had become is able to talk back to you. To actually show you what you had become to the loved ones around you. With a whispered comment about ‘setting up’, the scruffily bearded man made his leave of the entryway of the Sanctum. Janet was barely aware of what he had said, her mind dealing with its own demons. She was, however, able to register what Strange was saying as he passed her.
“I’ll move him into the observation room. He’ll be…comfortable as his body purges his system.”
“You’ll fix this, then.”
The comment was not an order nor aggressive. It was soft and very strained. Strange paused to turn and look at Janet directly with pitying eyes. She was swaying, despite there being no wind in the Sanctum.
“I’ve done what I can to help his body to readjust to normal functioning.” Strange’s eyes looked down for half a moment, “There…His mind needs to overcome the addiction on its own. No spell can rewrite the mind’s dependency on things. He needs to do this himself.”
Janet’s jaw tightened. Not being able to say much more, she simply nodded as she tried to remain as professional and intact as possible. Strange, with a still hovering Hank at his side, resumed his walk towards the staircase. He stopped once more, closing his eyes in secret frustration as he felt something prick him at the back of his mind. With a turn, he took several steps towards Janet. She was still and stiff, standing stuck to the floor.
“While I don’t have much experience in this area of medicine, I’ve been around enough doctors that were to know that there is a very good chance of recovery.”
He frowned to himself, trying to find any more words of comfort that he could give. His bedside manner was often criticised, even with his wide range of successful treatments and the lack of cost that he often tried to arrange for them. He had seen people at their worst. At their most fear induced or anxious, and at their lowest after losing someone. It should have been second nature to the man, but previous hubris had faltered any chance of connecting on an emotional level. On the rare occasion that he was unable to avoid a patient’s emotional needs, there was panic and deep discomfort as he failed to know what to say. Strange felt that discomfort just as he stared into the hollow, hopeless eyes of the short woman in front of him. It didn’t help that this wasn’t simple narcotic addiction, just addiction to a barely tested chemical that was made to aid in the defence against vampires. A situation that they were all involved in due himself, due to his arrogance. A pointless, endless situation that Strange honestly held no hope for resolution in. Not that Janet needed to feel that same void, however. At least one of them shouldn’t have the miserable burden of feeling enclosed by past mistakes.
“He’ll get through this. He is smart and a very determined person, who has a very strong and loving wife.”
There was a mild mental conflict within the sorcerer, but he soon found himself squeezing Janet’s arm. Family of patients suffered almost as much as the patients themselves. Strange knew that all too well. Janet’s body stiffened at the contact, but it seemed to bring her back to reality. She blinked several times and exhaled loudly. With a final squeeze, he turned around and once more walked up the curving staircase.
“Thank you, doctor.”
The whispered comment was caused a very nostalgic feeling in his chest as he walked away. It was the first time in many years since someone had called him that after treating a patient. Enough years for it to almost feel like a foreign title. He led Hank forwards, already planning several possible spells or tonics that could aid his body’s metabolism or ease the withdrawal symptoms that Hank would be feeling within several days.
As his body vanished behind a wall, Janet collapsed onto crate. She didn’t know what else to do. There had been a very naïve hope that Strange could simply undo the dependency on the formula, yet, like many recent events, that was simply a letdown. It would be a very long few months for the married pair, only made all the worse due to the presence on vampires. Janet snorted and smiled softly to herself. As odd as it was, they were still not the main worry in her life. The unconscious idiot being taken to the first floor was. It seemed trivial, but she still couldn’t shake the concern. If you couldn’t worry about your husband’s health in a possible world ending situation, when could you. The scientist’s ability to continue pondering on her husband’s condition was hindered by the sounds of two very loud, argumentative voices drawing closer.
“…eat show. I’m sick of people mocking it.” A feminine voice echoed through the corridor to Janet’s left.
“It had the budget of a school bake sale. I’m pretty sure the Tardis was originally made from a shed.”
With reluctance and a spoiled desire to be alone, Janet turned her head. Her eyes widened and to her embarrassment, she even stepped up from the crate that she was sitting on. Walking next to Peter was the tallest woman that she had ever seen. Peter was tall on his own, yet the rangy teen was at least a foot shorter than the person next to him. That wasn’t even the strangest thing, however. Green. The woman was green. Her skin was a deep jade colour and her black hair even seemed to have a green shine to it, as well. Her attire was unusual, for it was a robe with many markings and engravings. It reminded her of Thor’s cloak in many ways.
The pair stopped, suddenly aware of the crowded entrance to the entryway. Peter smiled and did his usual wave. Even with his socially awkward nature, he knew the sight of someone miserable. He saw it on many of the villains and unsavoury people that he had faced in the past. He cleared his throat, stepping past the jade giant and did his best to smile the widest that he could. Janet’s lip twitched, appreciating the gesture more than she would have guessed. He was too sweet for someone that spent so many nights trying to protect people.
“Nice luggage. Beats what I had to take when my aunt and I went to New Jersey for a wedding. I was six and it was summer, and so hot. Like, even with the car windows down, my aunt and I almost died and-”
“I’m Jen.” The green woman smiled politely, making Peter frown at the back of her head.
There was a strange moment where she seemed to waver forwards and backwards. Eventually, her hand was offered to Janet with a smile that had become very self-conscious and tight.
“Jan.” The shorter woman replied as she took her hand.
“Oh, short for Jennifer too?”
“No.” Janet smiled and chuckled gently, “Jan, for Janet.”
Jennifer’s cheeks went an even darker shade of green. Peter snorted from her side only to stop as he saw the glare that he was receiving. With his hands held up in surrender, Peter turned back to Janet. He was hesitated and clearly reconsidering what he was about to ask.
“I…Is Hank here or?”
Janet did her best to show away any negative emotion and answer as calmly as she could. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that Hank was in his current situation, and he didn’t deserve to see her start sobbing once again.
“He’s being seen to by Dr. Strange. He’s…not well. Not well at all.” She drifted off.
“I’m sorry.” Jennifer said, “I only met him once, but he seemed…like a great guy.”
Before she could stop herself, Janet let something slip.
“You should have seen him before the damn Pym Particles.” She shook her head, “Enough of that, though. At least for today.” Her eyes scanned Jennifer’s muscular build and titled her head, “If…this isn’t too rude-”
“Why am I seven foot and green?” Janet nodded, “A long story. A very, very long story.” Her eyes lowered and she shrugged lightly, “You’re not the only one that has a loved one that played around with science a little too much.”
Janet smiled in spite of herself. As odd as it was, it was relieving to have at least one other person in a similar boat, even if their boat was painted green.
“Hmm. I just got bitten by a radioactive spider.” Both women turned to Peter, frowning, “Not even joking. A spider. You’d think Australia would have an army of me by now, eh? Haha.” While Janet didn’t laugh, she was mildly humoured to see Jennifer snorting several times at the comment, “Did you get attacked? Cap and the rest of us were worried.”
“No.” Janet shook her head again, “We were lucky with that.”
“Very lucky. Got my apartment kicked in and almost murdered in three different ways.” Jennifer scoffed, “Great fun.” She sighed and with a clear mix of shyness and embarrassment, she turned to Peter, “Thank you for that, by the way. Again.”
Peter went slightly red but waved it off.
“All in a day’s work. Well, I don’t usually try to fight ten vampires with a sorcerer, but I’ve done close. I don’t mean to brag, but I did face the Sinister Six. Alone. Four times.” He grinned as he held up correlating fingers.
Janet creased her brow, trying to remember the name while Jennifer simply stared at Peter and sighed in clear annoyance. Before Peter could incredulously ask what was the matter, Janet spoke once more.
“I don’t know what that is.”
Peter’s resulting laughter was mute when he was realised that Janet wasn’t joking. Almost self-consciously, he crossed his arms and began to shift on his feet slightly.
“So, in my year and a bit of Spider-Manning, I’ve stopped a decent amount of villains.”
“Enough that they formed a team just to kill Peter here.” Jennifer grunted, “That isn’t something you should gloat about, Pete. You haven’t even finished high school and people are organising themselves into small armies to off you.”
“You’re just jealous.” Peter muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, what villains do you have?”
“Just murderers, rapists, thieves and the other people that hurt innocents.”
The sentence was rolled off Jennifer’s tongue so smoothly that it made Janet question whether she’d rehearsed it. Peter turned a deeper shade of plumb and struggled with his words for several seconds.
“Yeah, those guys deserve to be beaten up. I beat them up, too. I just…also beat up Rhino and Shriek and Hobgoblin.”
Janet’s eyes suddenly snapped open with such speed that Jennifer tensed, feeling something wrong. Much to her relief, there was only a relieved look on Janet as she remembered something. With a soft murmur, the short woman walked towards one of the crates lying on the floor and clicked open the thick latches. After a peak inside, she looked up and gestured to Peter.
“Ah…I, uh, thought I could help with something during the week. It gave me something to think about that wasn’t…” She stopped to rub her tired eyes.
Peter quickly was at her side, thankfully at such a speed that Janet didn’t need to speak further. It was getting harder to talk after such an emotionally draining day. She did, however, manage a soft smile as Peter flipped open the small crate. His eyes widened to almost double their normal size, and his lips twitched several times. Reaching down, he pulled out a strange fabric. A bright red and dark blue peeked into the air as Peter held it high. It was shiny, reflecting the dull lights in the entryway. Rolling the material between his fingers, Peter was very shocked at the sheer stretchiness of the fabric. Within the crate was resting a mask with bright, sharp lenses that peered intensely at whoever looked back at them.
“It’s meant to be as flexible as possible for your…swinging habits.” Janet explained, her soft smile growing as Peter held out the entire suit in front of him.
Jennifer stepped to Peter’s side, eyeing the red and blue with mild envy. While neither were her desired colours, it would be nice to have something to wear that wasn’t a gym outfit that tore every second evening. Having a hero suit was cooler in her mind than she wanted to admit. Her grumpy jealousy faded as she noticed a bizarre pattern on the chest. She tapped it.
“What is it?”
“A spider.” Peter grinned, “You made me a spider.”
“Well,” Janet cleared her throat, “Hank mentioned that you had painted a similar pattern on your hoodie. I had the press make my version. Is it okay?”
“Is it okay? This is…honestly one of the greatest things anyone has ever given me.” His smile grew somewhat sombre, “Thanks.”
“It’s nothing. Really, the material was something that we played with when we were making a bid for the space contract and-”
Her explanation was ended by the tall teen gently hugging her. The warm, friendly physical contact was enough to make Janet hitch her breath. It had been a long day, a very taxing day, and the hug felt like a warm blanket on a freezing night. So much so, that for some unspeakable reason, it almost drove her to tears. Suddenly, Janet was doing everything in her power to hold back the flood that was within her mind.
“Th-thank you.” She said quickly, gently slipping away from the hug, “You’ll be able to fight vampires in something other than your pyjamas.” Peter laughed while Jennifer smirked, “I should probably get to going through some notes, though. I need to…see if I can find anything on the vampires that Doctor Strange mentioned.”
“Yeah, should probably get some sleep.” Peter agreed, his eyes suddenly foggy, “Seriously, though. Thanks for the suit.”
“Thank you for helping us. You’re…a very brave person, even without the vampires being in the equation.” Janet replied with a tired smile, “Good night.”
“Nighty, night.” Peter grinned at Jennifer, “Good luck trying to sleep with the pug snorting every two seconds.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed into tight squints and there was movement under her cloak, almost as if she were preparing to strike him.
“Goodnight, Pete.” Was her response, spoken through gritted teeth.
Peter laughed again and soon turned to walk towards the staircase. As Jennifer turned, she noticed Janet already leaning over several notes with various chemical symbols scribbled everywhere.
“He’s a nice kid.” Janet murmured.
“He is.” Jennifer agreed, “Bit loud, though.”
“I prefer the quiet type, too. It’s what…It was one of the qualities that I liked about Hank.” She looked up to Jennifer, “Got a boyfriend that you’ve dragged into this, too?”
Jennifer’s eyes bulged and she snorted several times.
“Oh, no, no.” She smiled in a way that was clearly forced, “No. Just…me. And Maxxie. She’s my roommate. And a pug. Not great with the whole…male thing.” She paused and began to hover her hands in front of her, “Or people thing. I struggle with…I struggle with talking to people. They think I’m weird.”
“You’re giant and green.”
It wasn’t an attempt to be mean, but rather a simple observation. Janet knew the pressure of social anxiety all too well, having married Hank of all people. When they had first met, any attempts at introducing him to her friends almost caused a panic attack.
“Before that.” Jennifer huffed, “College was a nightmare. It’s probably how I did so well in law school. Not many distractions.”
“You’re a lawyer? A lawyer that turns giant and beats people up at night?” Janet looked mildly impressed, “That’s amazing. I can see why Tony mentioned you so many times.”
Jennifer tilted her head mockingly.
“We both know why Tony is so interested in me.” She stated, her hand making a circle around her pronounced chest, “Speaking of, if you’re making stretchy suits…”
There was a playful smile tugging at the corner of Janet’s lips. Without her usual reluctance, she turned away from the notes on the Pym Particle and eyed the tall woman’s cloaked figure briefly. Even without seeing her arms or legs, Janet guessed that the woman’s muscles were colossal.
“Do you know your size?”
“Before or after turning green? I become normal and short again once the adrenaline wears off.”
“Both?”
“Um…Never really measured myself post going green. I’ll get back to you on that. But,” She quickly added, getting more excited as she spoke, “It needs to be flexible, though. Pragmatic. If possible, I want purple and white. Dark purple. Something that really emphasises the muscles, too. Oh, and,” She turned to ensure that they were the only ones within the room, “something with support. Practical support. They really ache after a while.” She finished with a whine, her finger lightly gesturing to her chest again.
Janet did her best not to scold or appear too disgruntled by the sheer amount of instructions that she had just received. She was only doing to send them to the lone person that was still researching the uses of the fabric. It wasn’t exactly a key part of the Pym Technologies portfolio. The scientist highly doubted that she would offer much more input than simply passing notes along. Yet, seeing the wide grin of Jennifer, Janet couldn’t help but let herself give a small smile herself.
“Would you like some padded gloves to go around your knuckles?”
***
Humans had changed in many ways since Thor’s original visit to Midgard. However, for all of their technological marvels, they had not yet stumbled through the shallow waters of pettiness. A waste of time during a crisis, in the Aesir’s seasoned opinion. The bearded man eyed the flailing sorcerer with mild judgement before giving the same look to the belittlingly amused man standing in front of him.
As Tony Stark had returned from his ordeal with the vampires at his home and witnessing an absent Hank Pym, Thor had noticed a slight change to his tone and interactions. He was all but dismissive of Steve Rogers, making no attempt to return his greeting or queries of concern. In fact, his smugness was now simple distain for anyone that so much as raised a voice near him. His eyes were narrow and sharp as he sunk into a hole, clearly content to brood with his tools in silence. A silence that had been interrupted as soon as the human sorcerer had discovered which hole that the craftsman had slipped into. As soon as Strange had appeared behind Tony, the man’s body tensed and soft mutters could be heard.
“I did not say that you could set up your…workshop here.” The sorcerer snapped, his handlebar moustache crinkling in disgust.
Tony gestured to the rectangular room around them. It was bare, aside from a very fine, ornate rug that ran a dozen or so metres from one end of the room to another. Many cases and boxes had been thrown about, many of which were already opened. A strange suit of armour, quite unlike any other armour that Thor had seen a human wear, was resting behind the craftsman. It was heavier than any other human armour Thor had carried, as well. It lacked any heart to it, however. The design was too bare and lacked any heartful spirit to it. It was a tool, not a part of the man that had forged it. For that reason alone, Thor believed that he had still seen better amongst human designs.
“It’s the biggest space that I could find, wizard man.” Tony rolled his eyes, “Besides, it has power and I need somewhere to repair and upgrade the Iron Man suit.”
“Iron Man?” Thor asked, drawing two sets of eyes to the doorway that he was standing upon, “Much the same as the noble young warrior, Peter Parker. Spider-Man.”
Tony flushed and grumbled something as he focussed on cleaning his hands of some black liquid. Thor’s scrutinising look turned to good natured humour.
“My suit is metal. I am a man. Not that hard to figure out the naming convention.” Tony countered defensively.
“I don’t care.” Strange abruptly stated, making Tony’s darkened look return, “Get it out.”
“Why?” Tony grinned, but not in a pleasant way, as he took a step closer to Strange, “I thought I was your guest?”
Strange’s brace-lined fingers twitched, making Thor eye the seen with shameful interest. While it was a pointless waist of time for soldiers to turn on one another, it would be interesting to see the pair of such different skills clash. Had it been a more appropriate time, Thor may have even encouraged it. With some clear effort, Strange managed to step back. Deep breaths of clear restraint could be heard in the otherwise silent room.
“This is sacred ground. This room has taught hundreds of students their first spells and incantations. Having oil spill on the tap-”
“Yeah?” Tony asked mockingly, “Where are they all now, then?”
Thor felt his tongue dry with disgust. The sorcerer before him moved within an inch of Tony, making the bearded man pale and lean his upper body backways. Small markings danced around Strange’s fingers. Human magic was so different from Aesir. It was less fluid to the almost lyrical, natural ways that the Asgardians summoned the forces of the universe to fulfil their needs. In Thor’s eyes, the display Strange offered was almost crude. Yet, there was no attack or strike. Strange stepped backwards several, his eyes peering into the distance as he no doubt pondered something with great weight. His entire body faded from view within two more steps backwards. Tony was silent, his eyes staying their course on looking at where Strange had been.
“That was not a wise or brave comment.” Thor said in his typical soft, yet vibrating, voice.
Tony lowered his head slightly but soon shot Thor a filthy look. Without another word, the craftsman withdrew his tools and began to pull apart the chest plates of armour. Thor silently strode towards him, his head held high. No notice was taken by Tony as he did his best to distract himself.
“Do you not have any shame? He has clearly lost a great deal.”
“Yeah, look. He’s fine, he’s an adult, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture. Long day, terrifying day.” Tony replied dismissively as he began to pile the torn plates of armour at his feet, “I’m not like you. I don’t do this daily.”
Thor pondered the comment for a time, stroking his beard as he did so. Tony continued his work, clearly fuming on either guilt or insult, or possibly both. His face was a grimace as he angrily dug into the ruined components of the suit, intent of removing any trace of what the vampires had done to his precious armour. Any trace of the moment that his heart was almost impale by a hand.
“I was like you, when I was young.” Tony snorted, but Thor nodded to himself, “Yes, I too was arrogant, too brave for my wisdom to contend with. Each evening, my sheets were stained with a different maiden, usually more than one. Each battle, I charged in before even my brothers or father did so.”
“Yeah? What happened? You throw your back out?”
“People around me started to die.” Tony felt a strong hand on his arm, “As people will die around you, if you don’t learn that your actions affect those around you. This is a war, craftsman. War is not for the childish that turn their back to danger so that they can look at soft sheets and warm ale. The demon we face will threaten everyone that you pretend not to care about if you do not harden yourself to be stronger than his blade.”
Tony stared at Thor’s hand on his arm briefly. When he met Thor’s eyes, the look was almost murderous. Thor was almost impressed how the much smaller man turned his entire body to face Thor, even taking a step closer to remove any distance between them. Something within the inventor was snapped, triggered, activated. A horrid series of emotional gears spun as the events of the day spewed into Tony’s mind. The attack, Hank, the whole situation. As he spoke, he did so with venom and spite.
“Listen here, ABBA, I know a hell of a lot more about war than you can imagine. My father made the deadliest weapon on this fucking planet. Cities gone in a blink. I grew up watching footage of what my family made. My neighbours went to see baseball games with their parents. I toured factories where the guns were shipped off to Vietnam to gun down villagers. My entire education was learning to build things so that more people could die. My own father almost invested…” Tony managed to pause, panting loudly as he did so, “Don’t you ever fucking lecture me on wars.”
To Tony’s utter rage, Thor chuckled. The god crossed his arms and grinned sadly as he peered down at the unkempt man. Tony almost struck him right there.
“In all of those wars that your family profited from, Tony Stark, did you ever lift a weapon?” Tony’s lips went very thin, “Did you ever fight amongst brothers or sisters in those battles?” Thor’s eyes shifted towards the armour less than five inches away from them, “You can build a thousand of these…armours, it doesn’t matter. If you do not know how to fight and be someone that can carry a shield for a friend, then you are merely another man that cannot fight but shinier.”
Tony was very red. A very familiar sensation of when he first saw the shrinking technology of Hank’s was pumping into his system. A feeling that he felt when he was cornered by the vampires as they held him down within his suit. A feeling of being small.
“I can help more than any of you have the balls to admit. Frankly, I’m fucking sick of everyone acting like I can’t. I handled myself pretty well before Janet arrived.”
“I do not believe that you cannot help us.” Thor said in a lighter tone before turning harsher once more, “I believe that you need to do it. Discipline yourself, boy. Enough with the arrogance, and enough with the mead. We can smell you from a corridor away. You wish to fight with me? To challenge Varnae and to protect your own? Protect yourself and your allies first.”
Tony took his turn to chuckle darkly. He sized Thor up once more, a slight grin on his face as he did so.
“You’re so noble and wise, aren’t you? But you can’t be, though. If you were, why aren’t you on Asgard?”
Thor turned very still. A harsh, daunting expression overcame the man and for the second time in five minutes, Tony was leaning back and expecting a mighty blow. Once more, none came. Thor was staring at his hand in what appeared to be loathing and disgust.
“You’re not the only one that has made mistakes in his life. Heed the words of an older man, Tony Stark. You do not walk the path of a single man, not anymore. This is war, and war is fought in armies. If you do not understand that soon, you will end up like I did.”
Tony never got the opportunity to ask what that actually meant. His mood mellowed into a guilt instead of anger, but the god of thunder was already departing. Shame cut into the mind of the inventor and he did his best to focus on the machine in front of him. It didn’t matter if they hated him. He was a hateable man with few qualities that were admirable. Tony’s father made that clear as he was a teen. Yet, Tony still possessed enough uses with his hands, with his mind. He could help them, even if they didn’t like him. His armour would help. It needed to. But try as he might to think elsewhere, the second guessing of cruel, unneeded words with Strange and Thor only formed one desire: to find the nearest bottle of alcohol.
***
Varnae was not overly fond of wooden architecture. It felt uninspired, bland and often very plain to look at. Stone made for such better materials when crafting halls and beautiful rooms. Carvings could be fitting with jewels that lit up the room for all to see. The subtle colours could easily be countered with roaring flames and brilliant lights. While some commented that Deacon Frost’s estate was luxurious, Varnae honestly could not understand why. Even the art of recent humanity offered him little interest. As he sat with his arms supporting his enormous upper body, the artworks before him lacked any skill in his opinion. That were simply cubes. It did not take much effort to train someone to make cubes. He let out a deep noise from the back of his throat and used a leathery finger to scratch one of his cheek pads. Art had truly fallen since Atlantis crumbled into the seas.
The thought made his eyes lower slightly. In the weeks since his reunion with his ‘children’, Atlantis had played on his mind often. It was, after all, the pinnacle of art and culture within this world. If contemporary civilisation was anything to compare to, there had been many steps backwards since Atlantis’ demise. When training and teaching his creations, Varnae had taken great efforts to instruct them as the Atlanteans had done to himself. They were humble listeners and devoted students, learning each of Varnae’s lessons well. It seemed that time worked wonders in weakening that dedication, however. Few remembered the most basic of incantations or spells. Many had forgotten countless languages that they had been taught, especially Atlantean. A language so beautiful that tears would swell when foreigners listened to the smooth syllables and flowing vowels. Priceless artefacts from centuries prior had been thrown aside as if they were nothing. Artefacts from the greatest craftsmen and smiths that the world had ever known. Technology lost to the waves of progression and ignorance.
A deep sound escaped Varnae again. It was not promising to see what his children thought of him if he were to leave. As silent as Varnae was, it did hurt him to see where his children’s long-term loyalties lied. From the sights of things, it also seemed that their childish bickering had only gotten worse in recent centuries, as had their hubris.
Varnae let out a very loud noise as he heard a knock on the door. The door to the office that Frost had offered him was opened, allowing four attendants to enter with lowered heads. They were each carrying a wooden trolley full of thick cases. Varnae immediately eyed them, but said nothing. Instead, he waved a hairy arm in front of him. A very thick sheet appeared from thin air. The attendants carefully placed each of the dozen or so cases in front of Varnae. With lowered heads, the women prepared to leave immediately, only for the giant ape to ‘ooow’ several times. His fingers taped at the areas next to him and he stared at them expectantly.
The young vampires exchanged panicked looks as subtly as they could, but a short Asian woman soon forced herself into a seating position at his side. One by one, the stiff and anxious underlings did the same. Once all of his attendants were at his side, the large being flicked his fingers up. Very slowly, the nearest case flipped open. Before them was a very padded support for a steel object with many engravings. With small and curious eyes, Varnae peered at the elongated object of metal for some times. With careful fingers, the scoped cylinder was retrieved with extra care not to break the glass circles within. His bulky frame turned to the closest attendant, and holding the cylinder to his eye. The cylinder was aimed at the wall behind her, Varnae making a point to peer into it. A moment later, the object was passed to her.
“Reveals secrets.” He stated before letting out several more ‘ooow’s.
Nervously, the girl peered into the glass. There was a moment of confusion, as the tiled walls of kitchen was within her eyesight. Large bottles of a thick red liquid were being opened and poured into wine glasses. After what appeared to be one of Deacon Frost’s men silently arguing with another man, the glasses were placed on a silver tray and hastily carried out. It was only when she remembered that Varnae’s abode shared a wall with the smaller kitchen that she understood what the artefact actually did. Varnae’s body shifted several times, and it was quickly understood that he was chuckling at her reaction. Raizo had the same reaction when he had been given a very similar tool many centuries ago. The young man had been so awe struck by Atlantis when they had first met, and was easily the most disappointed that he could never actually visit the fallen city.
One by one, each of the cases was opened and shared amongst the group. To the attendant’s great relief and even greater confusion, the ancient vampire made a point of showing each of them every artefact. More so, he went into great detail about each of them, despite talking in his small sentences. It was the most at ease that they had ever seen the reclusive and enigmatic creature and, for a time, they had forgotten that he was one of the most terrifying beings in the cosmos. They saw an eager teacher, not the being that had slaughtered the Sorcerer Supreme and challenged a Nordic god. He was…pleasant.
Yet, for Varnae, each case simply brought more disappointment. While the rekindling of memories of home was as sweet as the purest blood on his lips, none shared the symbol that he had commanded that they find. It was not a difficult task. The symbol was extremely basic. An elma fish. They were once common, and distinguished by their spiked spine. His children truly had grown worrisome in his absence. For all their gloating of their resources, not a single excavation had found anything in over a week. Hannibal had remarked that he would find it in a day. It was no matter. Varnae had waited almost two thousand years for his return. He could wait weeks to months, if needed. Despite his children’s tendency to show off, they knew all too well the need for secrecy to survive. For that, Varnae held little concern for his fate or his desires.
“Music.” He stated, his eyes suddenly locking on a small device that one of the attendants was holding, “Pour water on-”
The door was opened without Varnae’s request. His body was pushed up with mighty knuckles as he saw Deacon swaying in, his bewildering smile gracing the room as he pushed back his flowing, curled hair. He was wearing yet another red suit, and his hand was accompanied by his usual wineglass of blood. His notice was immediately taken by the attendants at Varnae’s side. What could be interpreted as childish jealousy flashed within his eyes, and the handsome vampire clicked his fingers loudly.
“Out.” The Mitanni vampire commanded.
The four attendants rose, carefully placing what artefacts that they held onto the floor. With a bow to Varnae, they were soon gone. A deep noise left the ape as he pushed himself to his full height. Deacon lowered his head immediately, his eyes widened considerably as the towering ape stared down at him.
“Forgive the intrusion, father.” He paused, his voice suddenly changing, “I mean disrespect no.”
Varnae looked at Deacon almost pitifully. His Atlantean truly had diminished. The ape glared at the vampire with dangerous intensity before beginning to slowly swing his body towards the vial of blood resting on a cabinet. It was never wise to deal with Deacon on an empty stomach. A tendency to slap him often followed in those moments.
“Poor language.” Varnae chided as he poured himself a glass.
“It has been two thousand years.” Deacon replied in an uncharacteristically careful tone, “I get the feeling that none of these are what you’re looking for. Tsk, tsk. Falsworth really doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Never does, really. Well,” A slight smirk formed as he pressed his glass to his lips, “he knows how to find those that challenged you, at least.”
There was silence within the room. Varnae said nothing as he slowly poured himself a glass. When he did so, he eyed the liquid and even swirled it. Deacon took his chance and pressed further. It was not often that one was within the sole presence of Varnae, even during the days of old. It was not an opportunity worth wasting.
“If you have not been informed, allow me to. With shame, I must report that my dear brothers have sent some forces after the humans and nonhumans. With even more shame, they all failed. Lost a few trusted enforcers, as well.”
There was nothing. No twitch, no cursing, no show of violent rage. Deacon took a sip, his eyes not leaving his creator. The ape was still too interested in his glass, and it was beginning to irate the younger, prouder vampire.
“Since this issue has blown up, I offer to resolve it. Allow me to personally rip the heads off of the-”
“No engagement.”
Deacon’s face turned cold. The ape finally turned away from his blood and gave Deacon a strong look of warning. A look that Deacon had successfully managed to forget for centuries. It was as patronising as ever. A heated feeling swelled within Deacon. Several of his siblings had failed abysmally. It was almost embarrassing, with the green woman allegedly killing ten of Brand’s men. While one of the humans had managed to defeat several of his own men, at least it was not ten. It was an insult to their kind. Someone had directly challenged them and survived several times. Yet, as Deacon proposed a solution, his creator had the audacity to ignore him. Many memories of similar events from his younger self resurfaced, making Deacon’s eyes tight and sharp.
“Not worth time. Focus on ruins. Find artefact.”
“Father,” Deacon pleaded through tightly gritted teeth, “please. Let me help. I can fix this whole issue. Hell, I’ll go myself. I’ll remove this threat while the others focus on the artefact. We split our attention and-”
“Chaos breeds chaos.” Varnae warned, “War with them will bring more attention to us.”
“I’ll do it quietly. I understand your concern, but trust me. I beg of you. I have been a loyal son since you saved me. Let me renew that loyalty.”
“If you were loyal, why attack youngest without permission?”
Deacon’s tight smile became even more rigid. He straightened himself and finished the remaining blood in a single swig. With a loud sigh afterwards, his gaze returned to Varnae as a confident, unsettling grin formed.
“I have done what I have always done. Bring honour to you. Whenever someone insulted you, mocked you, I was the one to hunt them. I was the one that wanted to stand at your side against the Sorcerer Supreme that banished you. Remember the good old days? When cities bowed to us?”
“That will happen…again.” Varnae noted, but Deacon did not seem overly convinced.
“But how? What artefact do you seek?” There was no response, “Father, I’ve spent centuries building what I have. You were not there to see it, but I have challenged many enemies and won against all. Out of all of the ten, my empire has remained the most consistent. Doesn’t that deserve enough respect to at least know what we’re digging for?”
Varnae took several steps towards Deacon. His eyes were not soft, but nor were they harsh. Deacon did his best to mask any emotions or physical tells from his father, but it was a poor effort. Even after centuries in exile, Varnae knew his creation too well.
“Artefact that will give us power without war. Trust me, Deacon, as you used to.”
The use of Mitanni made the younger vampire exhale in a shaky manner.
“I still trust you. I want you to trust me.”
“Then find me relic, and you be at my side as we bring new age to Earth. Make you emperor. Old will die, new will rise. I promise this.”
Deacon was as stoic as he could manage. As attractive as those words sounded, he did not know if he wanted the old to die. The old that he had spent centuries in building for himself. Centuries spent fighting off sorcerers, werewolves, demons and other mystic rivals as he built his name in the world. Centuries spent carefully gathering his forces in silence and darkness, ready to strike whoever he desired. To take what he wanted when he wanted it. Life was good and the erratic vampire had made a passionate point to milk it for all that it was worth. A system that worked. A system that may no longer be in existence within weeks or months.
“I’ll find the artefact. I swear.” Deacon promised with a bow.
Before he could fully retreat from the room, there was one final ‘oow’.
“No more attacks. Focus on finding ruins.”
A bitter expression overcame Deacon and he stayed with his back to his creator.
“If you’re so determined to avoid conflict, why make an army of High Vampires?”
“All civilisations…need people. You will see…soon.”
Deacon nodded but said nothing more. The door was soon closed behind him. A deep noise left Varnae was he scratched his left cheek pad. The young man was still short-sighted and impatient. It mattered little, for Varnae would bring him to glory, nonetheless. They would all see that there was a greater strategy than violence, he just needed them to be patient. An easy solution would be to simply explain what the artefact that they were looking for actually was and to ease their clear anxieties. The prospect caused a deep sensation of discomfort in Varnae’s stomach. It was not that he did not trust them. No, the matter was fixed upon the artefact itself. For the sake of their sanity and temptations, it was best that they did not know what it was before they found it. If used correctly, the artefact would only need to be used once. A single whisper from a tool so dangerous that even Varnae himself was weary of it. The sooner that it was found, the better. The sooner that it was found, the sooner that it could be lost once more. Lost like the other Atlantean artefacts.
A sigh left the mighty vampire as poured more blood into a glass. A glass too small for his leathery hands. Everything was too small for him. Doors, seats, even clothing. He truly was out of place. No words in any languages sounded pleasant to him. No cities seemed impressive or colourful. No person was as engaging. He was the last of a dead culture, and the last of a dead species. The closest relief could be found in Orangutans, but upon seeing them, Varnae felt disgust and pain. He couldn’t even talk to them as he could to the humans of Atlantis. There was just Varnae in a world that had long since moved on. A chaotic, immoral world that was barely his. It was those thoughts that festered within his mind as he sat, his eyes full of mourning as they stared at the gathered artefacts. It was those thoughts that made him feel one thing: truly alone. He would rebuild Atlantis and with it, everything would be back to the way it should be.
***
“Is he still in a mood?” Steve asked politely.
The large man was seated in what he guessed was a study room of sorts. Many wooden desks and chairs lined the room, with small clumps of cushioned seats resting in two corners. It was within one of the clumps that Steve was sitting, his skin still damp from the post training ‘shower’ that he had taken. The Sanctum Santorum’s version of a shower was a tall tap that violently sprayed mist on the user, mist that clung to the body and scrubbed away any dirt to clean the skin. It was the most bizarre and relaxing shower that Steve had ever had.
“A striking one, Steve Rogers.” Thor replied as he walked towards him.
The Aesir seemed unusually tired and worn. While still an extremely imposing person, his eyes lacked their usual intensity. Whatever Tony had said, it was clear that it had insulted Thor as much as his words had to Strange. Yet again, the sorcerer had vanished and refused to be found. It was becoming frustrating for the soldier. They needed to plan, not argue. If they did this in the army, they would have been backhanded by command or torn up by enemy bullets.
“Just what we need. Well, for whatever he said, I’m sorry.”
“It is not you that needs to utter such words.” Thor said with a calm smile, “What are you reading?”
In front of Steve was a series of old books and papers. Each had been collected from the various libraries in the sanctum, primarily because they were in English and Steve could actually understand them. Unfortunately, most were educational books for teaching spells, with one being a philosophical analysis of the use of healing magic on dying patients.
“Nothing useful on vampires or Atlantis. I’m starting to think I need to read old horror books, at this point.”
“At least some books are in a language that you can read.”
“I know some Spanish, if that helps.”
Peter, also damp from his early morning shower, smiled as he stepped next to Thor. The teen took one look at the books in front of Steve and whistled.
“That’s a lot. I can try to find Mr. Strange if you’d like?”
“Good luck with that.” Steve said with a smile, “We need to find one of Varnae’s goons. Just one. If Varnae was smart, he’d be keeping them either well hidden or kept silent around them, in case one if captured.”
“And if that’s the case, we’re trying to a freaking vampire for no reason.” Peter frowned, “We sure the mysterious redhead doesn’t know anything?”
“Jacqueline Falsworth knows nothing of Varnae.” Thor explained, “He is keeping his distance, even from his own creations. He is wise not to reveal anything that could threaten his plans. There is a chance that not even his first creations truly know what he is striving for.”
“We need to take that risk.” Sighed Steve, “Otherwise, we’re just sitting around and waiting. I did that long enough in the ice. I’m not letting this guy start another war.”
“A vampire war, too.” Peter nodded, thinking over the possible disaster, “Plus, they keep trying to kill us one by one. There’s that. I’d like to be able to go home without having my blood sucked.”
“The dream.”
A very tired and dishevelled looking Janet was making her way towards the group. Her short hair was messy from countless hands being pushed through it in frustration, and her bottom lip was cracked from nibbling on it. At her side was a pale skinned Jennifer, her frame now only slightly taller than Janet. It was much to her relief, as she could finally wear normal clothes and not a robe. Snoozing in her arms was a loaf of white fur that shifted every few seconds. A deep glare founded from Jennifer as she noticed Peter’s smirk the moment that he saw the pug.
“I take it no one has anything? Still?” Janet asked grumpily.
“Ah, no.” Steve shook his head, “Unless, you can read whatever language these books seem to be written in.”
“I think it’s Elvish.” Peter suggested, somewhat seriously.
“No, if it were, I could read them.” Thor countered, making Peter’s eyes widen.
“Elves are real?”
“On topic, Pete.” Jennifer sighed, “I took a look through my notes, and the connections between possible vampire murders are too vague to find anything usual.”
While she looked mildly defeated, there was some spark in Janet’s eyes.
“I have a small hunch. I sent Jarvis to look at some investor notes for Stark Industries, but Lucas Brand is a name that’s mentioned as a Pym Tech investor.” Everyone suddenly shifted in their places at the news, “Settle. I don’t know if it’s the one we’re looking for. He barely invested more than a few thousand. In fact, if he was an evil vampire trying to invade a company, he’s been doing a lousy job.”
“Unless if he just wants to keep tabs on various science-based companies?” Peter suggested, “I’d do that. Sprinkle the money all around, get those investor reports and meetings that they all go to. It’d be a great way to see what’s happening.”
“He’s a vampire. Why would he want to invest in a shrinking company?” Steve asked.
“We do a hell of a lot more than just…Never mind. I don’t know.” Janet said genuinely, “Again, it’s probably not even him. None of the other names, like Falsworth, have come up-”
“Yes?”
Janet craned her head to the side, seeing a very meek young woman standing next to her. There was a brief silence as Janet tried to understand why the redheaded vampire had made an appearance. Seeing everyone eye her expectantly, Jackie cleared her throat.
“I heard my name twice. I thought I was being called.”
“You can hear that well?” Steve frowned as Peter became very still.
“What, uh, what else can you hear?” There was a mildly judgemental look aimed at the teen and he quickly turned away in mild shame, “It was push ups…” He said softly.
“Did anyone ever mention any of the other original vampires when you were created?” Steve asked the young woman, “Anything at all? Please. We’re lost here.”
“Like I said, we knew that there were others in the world, but we were kept in small numbers and told nothing. If we asked too many questions, heads would be torn.”
As she spoke, there was a mild wince. The early days of her rebirth into a vampire were not pleasant, especially given the death rate and the fact that she literally drained anyone that went near her of their lives. A fact that no doubt contributed to the uncomfortable looks that she was currently receiving.
“Great.” Steve said softly, rubbing his eyes, “We need to draw one of them out, then.”
“Challenge one of them.” Thor continued, “Surely one of these lowly beasts has some honour.”
“That may not be needed.”
Before their eyes, Strange materialised into a physical form. Jennifer jumped slightly, rousing Maxxie and causing her to bark softly in confusion. The sorcerer placed a large tome on the desk in front of Steve, one covered in poorly written words from a foreign language. They all stared at it for a time, before Peter turned to Strange with an uncomfortable look on his round face.
“Do you have anything at all in something that we can read as a group?”
“It’s one of the journals of Hiram Shaw, a former Sorcerer Supreme.”
“Ah, so being helpful.” A voice drawled from being Strange.
He didn’t need to look up and he felt himself exhale loudly. A few moments later, he saw Tony out of the corner of his eye. There was a very subtle sway to his step and the grin that he was giving everyone was nothing short of lecherous. It was a smile that faltered as soon as Thor stared at him. With a cleared throat, Tony crossed his arms and did his best to focus on the book. Strange did not let him off so lightly. He leaned close to Tony’s face, forcing him to look into his beady eyes.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out and to make my life quiet again, even if that includes reading.”
Tony didn’t say anything, and he lowered his eyes to the book once more.
“What makes the book helpful?” Asked Janet in a cautious tone.
“Hiram was the Sorcerer Supreme during the seventh century, well past Atlantis’ demise.” With a trembling finger, Strange tapped the page presented to the others, “He mentions that he found a door to a settlement. A gate or veil of some kind. One that was guarded by living Atlanteans.”
“Is this reliable?” Steve asked rather bluntly.
Strange took a moment to reflect on the question.
“He was eccentric, yes. He was known for gambling with demons. In fact, I think several attended his wedding. He was not known for lying, however. He was almost a great traveller.”
“So, some of them may have survived.” Janet mumbled, to herself more than anything.
“Plato mentions them.” Jennifer was quick to point out.
“He mentions an arrogant city that was submerged after upsetting the gods. He doesn’t mention survivors.” Steve countered and, seeing Jennifer’s look of confusion, continued, “We used to have to read Plato in school in my day.”
“Does he list the gate?” Peter asked Strange.
The sorcerer stroked his moustache as his shaking finger traced several written lines. Eventually, he tapped one.
“He mentions the path that he took to get to the gate. I should mention that at no point has any other journal or biography I’ve ever read mentioned this gate or Atlantis surviving. Keep that in mind.”
“And the odds of this being common knowledge to Varnae?”
Strange frowned to himself, having not actually thought of that point.
“It is possible that the gate was built during his exile.”
“But why not contact him beforehand? If there were survivors, wouldn’t you want your crazy ape pet back?” Jennifer added.
“If it were Varnae, no.” Steve answered softly, “But we can’t assume that he doesn’t know about it either. We need to be quick and careful. How long’s the path to get there?”
“Just a mild trek through the coastline of Lebanon. Should only take a few days.” Strange’s reply was marked with dark humour.
“We might not have a few days.” Steve sighed, “Would it draw attention if you made portals across small distances.”
“I’m not coming. Both due to an honest lack of interest, and the fact that I have someone recovering one floor up that requires my observation.”
Janet suddenly looked away and tried not to think too hard on the comment. With a loud groan, Peter dramatically gestured to the journal.
“C’mon! We can’t even read this thing. You need to come.”
“You won’t be going, either. You’ll be in school.” Steve pointed out and Peter’s face scrunched up in outrage, “Pete, if you keep missing days at school, people will notice and get suspicious. We don’t need the attention or people asking questions.”
“And in a crowded school, you’re arguably the safest one out of all of us.” Strange added in a soft tone, “I’m still not going. Besides, too many might draw too much attention from the locals.”
“I’ve never been to Lebanon.” Jennifer said, trying not to bounce on her feet in excitement, “In fact, never left the country.”
“I’ll go, too.” Steve added immediately, “Jan?”
“What use am I?” She scoffed miserably, “I’ll keep looking into the investors portfolio and…on Hank’s formula.”
“Need to work on my armour, lovelies.” Tony sighed with a tatter, “Next time.”
“I shall go on this quest.” Thor nodded, a small smile on his lips, “I have confidence that we shall find this…gate.”
“What about her?” Peter pointed a finger at the redhead that was attempting to silently leave the room.
Steve blinked, having completely forgotten about the silent vampire. One who was now glaring at Peter. He wasn’t the only one. In fact, Janet had completely forgotten about her existence entirely. Turning back to look at the others, she nervously put her hands on her hips.
“She could smell other vampires, if Strange isn’t coming?” Peter suggested.
“Stop dragging me into this.” She whispered before sighing.
“We could use more help if shit hits the fan.” Jennifer softly said to Steve.
“Why should we trust you? You might run defect if we run into vampires.” Steve noted.
The young woman looked disgusted by such a comment. Her lip quivered and it appeared as if lunging at Steve was an option running through her mind. Thankfully, she remembered that she was outnumbered by poorly.
“They…They took my life. Are you serious right now?”
“I trust her.” Thor’s voice cut in before Steve could ask further questions, “I sense no evil in her heart.”
“Does it even work anymore?” Tony asked before breaking into broken chuckles.
“I still have a heartbeat, yes.” Jackie paused, “I…Odd.”
“Vampirism is a magical disease. It doesn’t stop your damn heart.” Strange explained in begrudging manner, “Do you want to help them?”
The group looked at Jackie intently, even Maxxie. A faint flush overcame her, and she almost took a step back under the sheer intensity of having so many people staring. She wanted to help as much as she didn’t want to. Her only vague safety had been within the magical walls around her. She was under no illusion how likely it was that she would be killed the moment that she stepped outside. The redhead had surrendered and, even worse, actually run for sanctuary in a sorcerer’s abode. Varnae would have her literal head for such a thing or toss her to some of the others for amusement. Yet, if she stayed and did nothing, there was a real chance that she would also die. Varnae could succeed in whatever he was striving for, and then the falsely secure walls of the Sanctum would be entirely worthless. Not only that, but she would possibly be thrown out by Strange and left alone by the others. An arguably worse scenario.
Having come to her conclusion, Jackie did her best not to seem too annoyed or terrified.
“I’ll…help if you need. Only if you want. I’m fine either wa-”
“If Thor trusts you, I’ll give it a chance, too.” There was a very subtle nod of appreciation given by the bulking god, one that only Steve noticed, “We should start getting ready.”
There was a loud and every excited clap.
“We’re forming a team. We’ve even got a team mascot!” Peter cried, pointing to a suddenly excited Maxxie.
“Peter, please shut up.” Strange grunted, “Get me when you want the portal. I’ll be in the reliquary.”
“And that is…”
Before Jennifer could finish the question, Strange had already dematerialised. The woman shook her head as she stroked her eager pet as she wiggled in Jennifer’s arm. One by one, the gathered group split off into their own areas. Tony waddled his way back to his armour, his eyes unfocussed as he did his best to ignore the feeling digging at his gut. A feeling of not being able to actually contribute to anything. The suit needed to be repaired as soon as possible. Steve hastily walked to his room, eager to gather his shield and see what supplies Strange had within the mystical domain. Janet looked tired once more, and made a soft remark about checking her formulas and papers before leaving as well. Thor bowed his head politely before heading towards the kitchen. Peter waved his usual wave and smiled widely at Maxxie, who snorted in response, before gathering his supplies for the day of school ahead. That left Jennifer, Maxxie and a very uncomfortable Jackie.
It was another person, Jennifer quickly realised. Another chance for socialisation. After hastily remembering the starter sentences that her counsellor had provided her with, Jennifer cleared her throat.
“Hello, I’m Jennifer, but some people call me Jen. Nice to actually meet you.”
As she spoke, a clearly nervous hand was raised for Jackie to take. It was such a socially awkward and clearly overthought process that Jackie didn’t know where to laugh or feel bad for the slightly older woman. After a moment’s hesitation, she took Jennifer’s hand and squeezed it.
“Jacqueline, but people call me Jackie.”
***
“We’ve searched these four sites, but nothing. Only Archaic Period Greek settlements.” The plump woman explained.
As Hannibal stared at the series of maps before him, he did his best to remain calm and collected. The archaeologist next to him was a human, and a well known one within her circles. Casually killing her within his tent in a moment of frustration after so rapidly funding her research would not be subtle. After rumours of Brand and Falsworth’s abrupt failures to kill those that tried to challenge Varnae, Hannibal was eager to remain as under the radar as possible. Merit and favour would be gained through completing goals and tasks, not randomly striking enemies that are underestimated. Patience and focus, that would be what rewarded Hannibal.
“And you’ve done analysis on the iconography?” The large, dark man asked as warmly as he could.
“Well, there’s not much to analyse, really. There’s some artwork on the pillars in Site C. The issue is that these are just a few houses, maybe the remains of an old forge. We’ll keep looking as we clean up the architecture.”
“Thank you. If your students find anything else, please let me know, Professor.”
“Of course. And again, thank you so much for this. In all my years, I’ve never seen such a passion for Hellenic archaeology.”
There was a forced, very sweet smile upon Hannibal’s lips.
“The future can only be seen by studying the past.” He lied, “Now, if I may, I need to finish up some reports.”
“Of course, of course. Have a lovely day.”
“And to you.”
As soon as she left, the High Vampire spat to himself. He was running out of sites and settlements that he could remember. He was never overly found of the Aegean and its lot, and any time spent there had been due to Varnae. While it had only been a fortnight, that was usually enough for archaeologists to find decent amounts of remains, especially if planned well. Hannibal had planned the digs very well, using as many specialised researchers that he could fund in such a short time. It was not an easy task. He was coordinating seven different excavations, all of which had to appear as genuine as possible. That in turn was problematic, as the speed at which the digging needed to commence required significant money being given to local officials. All of that would acceptable had anything resembling the symbol that Varnae had shown been found. Nothing.
“Unless if it is good news or you are delivering me someone fresh to drink, I suggest you leave.”
The fabric door of his master tent was pulled aside, and a gaunt looking man stepped. Nasan was unusually old for a turned vampire, with most preferring to create younger minions. The lesser vampire held a body of a man in his sixties, withered and worn by both age and the monstrosities inflicted upon Jerusalem that he had witnessed. What he had lacked in youth, he had more than made up for with his mind and experiences. It was for that very purpose that Hannibal was ambivalent to the man’s age as his fangs pierced his throat. The withered man bowed lightly and soon appeared at his master’s side. There was a gentle smirk on his thin lips.
“I come with good news.” As he spoke, he reached into his jacket.
Hannibal’s eyes darkened with greed. With a movement quicker than a human could see, he was pouring two large glass full of blood.
“I decided to investigate a different lead. What if we are not the only ones looking for the symbol? Those that challenged your creator. You mentioned a sorcerer being amongst them? What if he is looking into this symbol? I hunted several book, tome, script and record that we have ever stolen or written on the sorcerers. I couldn’t find much, especially since lord Raizo seems to have taken most of the texts for his library in Japan. I didn’t find anything on the symbol, but I found this.”
It was a tattered several of papers that were heavily decayed. The ink was faded, and the pages torn in many places. Yet, there were Spanish words that could still be made out if one looked hard enough.
“Hiram…Hiram Shaw. Which one was that?” Hannibal asked and his advisor took a sip of his blood.
“I believe he was the Sorcerer Supreme a few centuries ago. The one with the curled moustache.”
“Ah.”
“In one of his commentaries on supernatural species, he mentions us.” Nasan gestured to both he and his master, “He also mentions…Atlanteans.”
Hannibal choked on his blood. Hastily placing the glass to his side, the vampire leaned over the script and eyed each of the words extremely closely. Page after page, he inspected everything as slowly and as carefully as he could. When he finished, he turned his back to Nasan and rubbed his lips.
“Have you told anyone else of this?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. We will not tell Varnae, not until we prove its authenticity.”
“Of course.” Nasan replied obediantely.
“Surviving Atlanteans.” Hannibal murmured, finally turning to look at Nasan once more.
“This was written about four hundred years ago. If this sorcerer is telling the truth, then there is still the chance that they have died out by now.”
Part of Hannibal wanted it to be so. From what Varnae had told him when he was first turned, the Atlanteans were all powerful and all knowing. Their mastery of mastery which they merged with their sciences was unparalleled. A culture dedicated to mastering the universe itself. A culture that even vampires are mere parasites to. The last thought made Hannibal feel very cold.
“I will go.”
“Hannibal, let a mere-”
“I am not trusting anyone with this.” The dark vampire hissed, “Not with this.”
Nasan waited for Hannibal to calm himself before continuing.
“Then allow me to come with you. Do I not have the trust to follow you towards this,” Nasan paused to read one of the pages once more, “passageway?”
Hannibal exhaled loudly, but put his hands on either shoulder of Nasan. A faint smile crept up as he eyed the advisor that had followed him through many horrific centuries.
“You and only you. I want us to be quick and quiet. We don’t need questions about why we’re in Lebanon.”
“I’ll tend to the arrangements now.”
Hannibal nodded in approval and let Nasan go. The advisor was gone a moment later, allowing Hannibal to take the bottle of blood to his lips and proceed to hastily drink as much of it as he could. Surviving Atlanteans. Why did there need to be surviving Atlanteans? Everything had a place its world, Hannibal had certainly built his. Atlanteans. Hannibal shook his head. If the text was accurate, gone were the days when vampires were the apex species on the world.
***
A/N: Hi all!
Thank you so much for reading this far in, and I really hope that you’re still enjoying the story. It’s honestly really amazing and humbling that people are sticking around this far.
Next chapter will show Cap, Jen, Thor and Jackie’s little quest to find the gateway, and reveal a bit more about what Varnae is specifically looking for. We’ll also see how Hank’s handling withdrawals, and some more character building stuff for Strange, Janet and Peter.
We will also be seeing one of my favourite marvel comic characters, purely because he such an arrogant arsehole, it’s insane haha. Keen to have an attempt on writing him.
Thank you so much for reading. As usual, if you have any suggestions or feedback, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. I really love how engaged people are with the comments, it’s awesome. If you like my writing, feel free to check out some of my X-Men stuff (which is softly in the same universe as this). Otherwise, thanks for reading and have a lovely end to the week!
Fact of the chapter: Raccoons and red pandas are in the same family of animals, which are close cousins to the genetic family that bears belong to. So, in a small, very convoluted way, one could argue that racoons and bears are second cousins. No one ever should, but they could…
Chapter 10: The Might of the Oceans
Chapter Text
Much to Hannibal’s immense pleasure, it was a relatively quiet and overcast day upon the slopes of growing mountains. The range was quite expansive, treading broadly along the Lebanese coast with many small towns and settlements nestled at the base. Long stretches of dry green trees and a pale dirt stood before the dark High Vampire. It had been many a decade since he had stood within the nation, in a time when it was part of a merged region simply labelled ‘Syria’. The vampire had only mild interest in how the buildings and people had changed since the Ottomans left, however. His eyes were invested heavily in the mountains above and not near the small town around them.
Nasan was returning to his side, having busied himself with a local. While the scholar was still confident in the journal of Hiram Shaw, he did not know the geography as particularly well. For that purpose, a local map and an opinion or two did not seem to hurt. The man’s attire was strange, but a necessity given the sunlight above. While High Vampires braved the solar glows with ease, their creations shrivelled and flaked. Thick, leather attire covered the man, making him a appear to be either a radioactive materials worker or a strange biker. His hands were adorned in matted gloves, and his neck was sealed into the many wraps beneath his hood, all to cover his face. It was the same attire for the twelve other lesser vampires that Hannibal trusted with this hunt. While they drew perplexed looks from the locals, especially the children, Hannibal was not arrogant enough to not prepare for what could meet him at journey’s end. He may be a High Vampire, but he had heard enough about the technology and magic of the Atlanteans to know that they were dangerous and wicked. It was partly why he was hoping with severe gravity that the journal was false, that the Atlanteans were extinct, and that Hiram Shaw had never found any remnants of a population. Varnae was powerful, and he was only one of their pets. With many returning to the world stage, Hannibal doubted his individualistic pleasures could remain unchecked.
“The townspeople are quite helpful.” Nasan stated warmly as he stood beside Hannibal, “The closest landmarks that match what Hiram refers to are, well, the mountain’s edge. There’s an old passage that the village ancestors used to take when herding their animals. It will lead us along the way, until we reach a series of circular rocks.” Nasan flapped the worn journal mildly, “The rest of the journey…None of these features sound familiar to the locals.”
“Then we will just have to find this gate the fun way.” Hannibal chuckled.
His mirth ended quickly. Rolling on his ankle, his eyes met two silent followers standing carefully underneath the shade of a battered tile roof.
“Stay and keep watch for any visitors. If one comes, one of you is to find us.” The two women bowed their heads, “The rest, come. We have ground to cover before evening.”
The small posse of vampires shifted their way through the gentle town’s people and walked upon an old road of well-trodden dirt and crushed dry grass. The town’s flowers and crops soon broke into tall ferns and wild plants, with stiff and cracked trees standing amongst them. The group was silent, Nasan at the front as he stared at the directions that he had only recently scribed. An hour passed as they rose upon the hardening rock. The trees began to shorten as harsher grass cut through the dirt. Higher and higher, the vampires rose until the hamlet of buildings were small to the eye. Hannibal turned, noticing the coast only a few kilometres away. A swirl of faded blue against worn yellows and browns.
“Far away enough?” Nasan murmured, his eyes peering at the tiny dots that were the townspeople.
“I should say.” Hannibal nodded, “Come. We need to move faster.”
With that instruction, the vampires ran with a hungered speed that humans could not comprehend. For Hannibal, each step brought an anxiety that he viewed as childish. There was a single testimony of their existence, nothing else. After the day’s end, he would disprove that testimony. Then, perhaps, life could return to normal for the stubborn and stagnate vampire.
***
The Enchantry possessed a very unique air, even compared to the rest of the Sanctum Santorum. The room was reasonably large, and the walls were decorated with brilliant gold imprints of creatures and those that were attempting to tame them. The floor was a sterile dark marble, the only floor in the building to be like such. Then there was the ceiling. A ceiling that made Janet almost stagger back into the hallway. It was pitch black and any light or colour that happened across it was sucked into the centre. It was though a small blackhole was drifting above her, feeding on very oxygen that she dared to breathe. Naturally, it took considerable time to feel comfortable within the room, but the small woman did manage to, eventually at least.
Within her hands rested a pen and a well-worn notebook, one with nearly all pages coloured in scattered writings and equations. Many of which were simply crossed out, and others were decorated with small observations or suggestions for future variations. At her side stood Strange, his shaking hands outstretched and flexed before them. One arm was encased in three differently coloured circles, each rotating different sets of symbols and runes. His second arm was bare, but his fingers gently drew symbols into the air with great care. With each new mark, one of the circles around his arm would change hue or the symbols within would also change. Above them were several pools of liquids, floating gently in spheres of blue, red, and many other hues.
“Minimise ‘compound 12’ by about ten percentage and increase compounds five and seventeen by three and seven percent.” Janet instructed as she eyed her notes.
The same eyes were dark and lagged, having stared at notes until deep into the morning. It was difficult to sleep when the images of your husband collapsing in a drug addled plundered your mind. After the second hour of simply staring at the ceiling with a cold sweat, the scientist had sat up and reached for the nearest journal and pen. She did not know what time it was when she left her room. It was difficult to gauge time within the Sanctum without a watch, and she had left hers within her home during the exodus. It was certainly daylight when she found Strange standing above the several containers that she had brought. His body was still hunched as his beady eyes examined some of the notes that she had left in her exhaustive mind. After a brief, mutually tired and restless conservation, the pair soon found themselves within the Enchantry.
As Janet uttered the instruction, Strange flicked several runes from his arm and watched as they faded into nothingness. New symbols were drawn into the air and Janet watched as several streams of liquid poured forwards. As they merged, the newly made serum glowed brightly as the various chemicals and compounds infused with each other. Strange lowered his eyes. A large cube of glowing and transparent orange magic rose from the floor. Within it was a strange creature, similar to a smaller chimp but with very noticeable. Its fur was a light grey and the four eyes were a brilliant blue. Its fingers were far longer than a chimp’s, looking similar to a sloth’s claws. The elongated mouth reminded Janet’s of a snout, more than anything. Janet watched as Strange delicately twisted his free hand. As he did so, the liquid dispersed into a mist that entered the cube from all sides. The animal sneezed several times and blinked. Janet bit her lip, her body leaning forwards slightly as her heart pounded in her ear.
It was the sound of Strange’s sigh that made Janet look down woefully and cross out yet another variation. His eyes were staring at the several circles spin slowly around his arm. None of the runes had changed in any way. The animal, a cithlon, simply rested on its knuckles as it tried to understand why the box it was within was also clear enough to see through.
“Variation ‘Fifteen point six’…a dud.” Janet snorted as she turned to the next page in her notes, “I’m really starting to think that there’s no substitute for ‘Compound 14’.”
“If that is the case, then it’s a matter of finding something else that counteracts ‘Compound 14’’s neurological effects without compromising the other compounds.” Strange surmised in a gentle tone, “These things take time.”
“Time we may not have.” Janet murmured gravely as her finger slid along a page, “This could help us. Given what the hell is going on, we need any edge that we can get.”
Strange nodded knowingly. He was the last person to be lectured on the severity of the situation that they were all in. Janet didn’t linger on the issue for long. Her notebook was held in front of Strange and he whispered to himself as he memorised the elements and ratios within the new variation. With a clap and shake of the wrists, one of the pools of liquid evaporated into the sinking hole above, disappearing entirely. Even though it was almost the fortieth time that it had occurred that day, Janet was still taken aback by the sight of Strange bending the air and his fingers in such a fluid way. After a soft incantation and drawing several dozen symbols into the air, a new pool of a dark blue liquid formed within the air itself. Janet shook her head.
“It’s…incredible that you can do that.”
“It’s not easy.” Strange stated as he looked at the growing pool, a twitch of a smile forming, “And I’ve never used my magic like this before. It’s…actually very engaging.”
Janet rolled her eyes as she prepared a new page for any possible observations.
“Surprised that you’d find testing compound after compound enjoyable.”
“I was a neurosurgeon before I was a sorcerer.” Strange’s voice had some actual humour to it, “I spent most of my life researching and testing new procedures. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to stretch this particular muscle.”
He nodded to the notebook again, which was soon held to his eyes once more. Several new runes were cut into the air and Janet watched as the glowing cube sunk into the floor. She did feel bad for the cithlons, but Strange had assured her that they would be examined and treated for any side effects after they were finished. It wasn’t as though any of them had shrunk, however. If there was a small relief from the utter lack of success, it was that the cithlon’s were probably safe aside from their newfound need to sneeze. A new cube soon rose from the floor, making Janet ponder how many of these near ape creatures Strange had and, more importantly, where he was keeping so many. The last thing that she needed to worry about was a troop of those creatures waking her by charging in and ruining her room.
“Sorry, I forgot. A neurosurgeon.” Janet chuckled sleepily, “From doctor to sorcerer. I’ve seen some interesting career changes before, but yours takes the cake.”
Strange smiled as he gently made the last few edits to his spell. The pair watched as the pools of liquid merged, infused and dispersed around the cithlon. Yet again, the only reaction was that the animal sneezed. None of the runes on Strange’s arm changed either, showing no change to the creature’s biology or chemistry had occurred. With a shake of her head and the gritting of teeth, Janet crossed out yet another variation.
“Any signs of any type of reaction?”
“No. We could change the ratio of the compounds, but I doubt that will do much. There doesn’t appear to be a catalyst anymore.”
“Start with “Compound 1”. Reduce ratio by five percent, increase “Compound 11” by the same. Do the same thing afterwards for compounds twelve to eighteen.” Janet sighed, clearly having no actual hope in the current variation.
Strange nodded, nonetheless. There was a very special type of pleasure to be gained from exploring the scientific underpinnings of the world. He had felt such pleasure as a small boy, carrying out small experiments on his family’s rubbished yard with cheap science kits that he was given for his birthday. In no small way, those thrilling moments of seeing the colour of liquids change and the successfully growing false crystals contributed to his passion in the sciences. A passion that currently subsided his usual tiredness and loathing for something sweeter. He had missed this part of his life greatly. While magical discoveries and the creation of spells still occurred, with some dedicating their entire lives to magical research, it just wasn’t the same. The thrill just wasn’t there like it was as Strange shifted the ratios of the compounds above him.
Janet watched the results with apathy, already knowing where they were going. They would have needed to be extremely lucky for the issue to simply being the ratio of substances. One by one, the slightly altered serums failed. A new page in the journal was turned and a pen met it hastily. Before Strange could evaporate the current variation, a new formula was thrust into his face. He didn’t mind, for the sorcerer had already begun drawing the new runes into the air.
“Do you miss it?” Janet asked lightly before hastily adding, “Being a neurosurgeon.”
“Sometimes.” Strange answered carefully as he focussed on the spell, “I wasn’t half bad at it.” He smiled.
It was a smile that turned sad as he nodded to the wires drilled into his quivering fingers and hands. He was quiet as he looked at them, making Janet suddenly regret the question completely.
“It was another life.” He spoke softly, “I was a different man. There’s no point in wishing for it. There are some things even magic can’t fix. Nerve damage being one of them.”
“How…I mean, if it’s not too much to ask, how did you…”
Strange met her eyes and she saw only grief. He had no reason to look away or avoid giving an answer. The spell was already complete, and they were simply awaiting observations. There wasn’t a direct need to answer. Strange could simply ignore her or lie. Janet deserved more than that, however. At least, in Strange’s growing opinion and growing fondness of her.
“I was an arrogant idiot.” His eyes slowly looked up at the dozens of compounds above them, “I thought…I was above everything. I wasn’t above my speeding car colliding with a truck.”
Janet closed her eyes.
“Jesus.”
“It was my fault.” The usual level of bitterness within Strange’s voice returned, “I was too distracted with the blonde’s head in my lap to care that I was on the wrong lane. My hands shattered, just like her skull.” His face scrunched up in clear anger, “Just another point in a long list of fuck ups I caused.”
His voice broke. There were several, very unsteady breaths from the man as his eyes weakened. He could not bring them to rest upon Janet’s, lest they saw shame or judgement within them. There wasn’t shame or judgement within them, only sympathy. It was the first time that Janet didn’t see him as a bitter man full of loathing. Before her was something broken creature wrapped in remorse and guilt. It was an expression that she had seen on herself several times since Hank’s breakdown, one that she inevitably set him down. A festering, poisoned opinion that she was simply unable to rip from her cursed mind. While she had never led to someone’s death nor could she justify that, she was not perfect. Her own mistakes were grave, her husband was a horrific testimony to that.
Strange looked down as he felt something soft on his arm. Janet was gently holding him, a look of understanding and sympathy in her eyes. It almost made him want to insult her or vanish. The look stung the sorcerer in a way that he couldn’t understand or described. He didn’t deserve her kindness or warmth. He wasn’t due anything of the sort. All he felt was a tainted gift that he had cheated to get.
“You did a horrible thing,” Janet said softly, “But, I think, if you’re still holding onto it, then you’ve learnt from it. And if you’ve learnt from it, you need to let it go.”
Strange’s face scrunched into a mix of rage and disgust, but soon settled on the pain that a confused child would give. His eyes dropped back to the hand squeezing his arm. A hand that should be terrified to touch him. As she spoke, Tony’s words bit at his mind. He was alone and there was a reason for that. There was truth behind the malicious words, and Strange could not deny that. He didn’t deserve her kindness or company. He didn’t deserve anything, but to waste away in the graveyard that he had made.
“I’ve done…a lot more things…that aren’t…”
He stopped, no longer being able to continue. Janet squeezed him harder as he closed his eyes and dropped his head.
“I’m not going to pretend like I can help with your grief or offer you…what you’re looking for.” Janet admitted, knowing he was too smart for false words, “But, you are making a difference now.” A gentle, encouraging smile formed, “You’re helping us fight Varnae. Whatever you did, that does count for something.”
Strange was very still and very silent. In fact, Janet almost believed that he looked uncomfortable.
“You’re helping me and helping my husband. For that, at least I can say ‘thank you’. So, thank you.”
The words sounded so filthy and foreign to Strange that he almost wanted to correct her. Yet, as he looked into her warm eyes, he could only sigh shakily.
“Hank is a very lucky man.”
“Oh, I know.” Janet chuckled weakly, “But soon, a lot more people will be lucky because of us. Besides, I already have to deal with Tony’s mental complexes. We don’t need you to make more for us.”
Strange didn’t counter her, but he didn’t smile either. Instead, he opted to nod at her journal and to clear the current variation above them. As a new cube rose from the ground, the embittered sorcerer managed a few more words with his aching throat.
“I don’t think anyone’s complexes could meet Stark’s.”
Janet’s chuckle turned dark as she held the notes in front of Strange.
“The stories that I could tell you about that man…”
***
Had Tony’s mood not been dwindling sharply, his current expression would almost make him laugh. His eyes were scrunched tightly, and his tongue was jutted between his teeth. With the greatest of care, he placed a hardened glass frame around the strange, circular contraption. As the glass rested around the components, the engineer was quick to place a second frame of metal around it, sealing it place by melting the joints together. There was a deep exhale and Tony leaned back. After a moment of regaining his nerve, the messily haired man reached behind the object and rotated it gently. The reaction was immediate. The hum was followed by the glass turning a bright blue. Nothing else. No explosion, no shattering, no flickering light before dying. A stable Arc Reactor. Tony gave it a small smile and a tiny prick of pride formed as he held his spare energy source as if it were a baseball.
The pride was fleeting. His mind could not resist the pull of memories from the day prior. A hollow feeling of guilt could not be shaken, even as he focussed on his repairs. A horrid cycle plagued him, beginning with a defence of his words to Thor and Strange. He was content to simply tinker with his work. Tony was not the one who started either conversation. He had just invented endless clean power, he did not need to be lectured on etiquette. Yet, despite this valid reasons, the venom behind his remarks could not be taken from his mind. There was no need to make such a strike against Strange’s borderline extinct magic-man order, or to question why Thor was even on the planet to begin with. Both were matters that he admittedly knew nothing about and, in hindsight, it was not the best to have mentioned. Strange had still allowed Tony within his house, even if he was an ass to be around. Thor had been arguably the second source of greater strength, outside of Strange. Tony wasn’t naïve. Without either of them, there was a good chance he’d be dead.
Shame and self-directed anger mounted, as it often did within Tony. Any attempt to stall the feelings or ignore them by replacing wires within his suit failed. Replacing the shattered monitors within his helmet did not replace the feeling that the others truly would be better off without him. Even with the suit, he had needed Janet to aid him. What was the point in trying to stop a monkey-vampire thing if you’re the first one to go out to it? It was no doubt why he had been left within the Sanctum, while Thor, Jennifer and Steve went to Lebanon. Even the redheaded vampire, a vampire, had gone on the adventure. Such miserable thoughts plummeted Tony’s already fragile mood. To make matters worse, he could find no more alcohol within the Sanctum. The place truly was a hell. A nightmare that made Tony sigh and put down his tools. Even he had his limits on how long he could stare at the same machine and work the same tools.
His stroll through the lonely Sanctum was silent. Half of them were missing, Pete was at school, Strange was hiding as usual, Jarvis was fetching some equipment for Janet, who was somewhere that Tony could not find. The removal of options brought Tony to a very square, well hidden room towards what Tony assumed was the back of the building. It was very large, having enough room was a glass prison cell to rest comfortably within it. The eerie green lights upon the wooden walls showered the cell in an uncomfortable colour, making the occupant look only more sick to the eyes as Tony came close.
In a matter of two days, Hank had turned into a shadow of the humble, soft man that Tony had known for over a decade. His skin was caked with sweat as he leaned limply against the glass. His eyes were a horrid colour of red and yellow and, as Tony stepped within eyesight, they struggled to lock onto him. His arms were shaking as he cradled them in his lap, and his dirty blonde hair was messy and unruly from the many times that he had plucked and tugged at it in an attempt to distract himself from the constant vomiting. His face looked weaky and bony, so much so that Tony felt a stir in his gut as he looked upon him. All that was allowed within his cell was a toilet and a large jug of water that was enchanted to endlessly refill. He wasn’t trusted with anything else, not in the state that was he was in.
“Been in this situation before,” Tony called with a forced tone, “It’s the worst few days of your life, but…once you get the junk out of your system, you’re fine.”
A hollow chuckle filled the room. Hank wiped his damp forehead and pulled his eyes up to look at Tony again.
“You’ve been here many times, I guess.” His voice was very raspy and dry, “The infamous Tony Stark and his habits.”
“Yeah.” Tony agreed softly as he slowly circled the cell, “More times than…Well, anyway. Gave Jarvis too many scares. Way too many.”
“How is the old man?”
“Helping Janet with storing her gear. He apparently had a fit when he saw the mess that she left in the entrance.”
The reply caused several very different expressions to shift upon Hank’s face. Irritation, hurt, sadness and longing all appeared before the researcher settled on a dulled face.
“She mentioned she’s working on the particles?” His tone was soft, almost vulnerable.
“Yeah. She’s, uh, trying to figure out where you went wrong.”
“Where I went wrong.” Hank chuckled bitterly, shaking his head, “I discovered a science not even you or Reed Richards could. A power that rivals the thing in your chest.”
“Hank,” Tony looked hesitant for a moment, not knowing how to word what was on his mind, “Janet’s terrified about you. We still barely know what this stuff was doing to your mind.”
“I snapped a few times at her.” Hank spat, “I never laid a hand on her.”
“You were passing out in front of us and barely knew your own name. Don’t be a dumbass about this.”
Hank’s expression turned to pure disgust. With some effort, the shaking man pushed himself up. His steps were short, trembling movements as if he were about to fall at any moment. Tony stared into his discoloured eyes as they stood, only separated by the glass.
“Me? The dumbass? Which one of us was on the nightly news for hosting an orgy on his yacht? Which one of us keeps a line of coke at his desk to get him through his meetings? Which one of us pisses away money that their family made for them?”
“Okay, Hank.” Tony murmured, doing his best to release the growing heat in his spine.
“Okay, Hank.” Hank sneered, “No, not okay. I’m in here, while you’re all pretending to fight vampires. What the hell are you doing to help?”
“I built a mechanical suit of armour that can knock one down.” Tony said, his pride flaring once more, “Upgrading it now. You’re not the only one that has a suit now.”
“Cute.” Hank grinned, “Does that make you happy, Tony? That you’re not missing out on something? Congrats, you can help the god and the sorcerer fight vampires in a little tin suit. Well done.”
“You know, I didn’t need to visit.” Tony spat, thrusting a finger at Hank, “I came here to see how you were, out of respect. You can go through withdrawals on your own, if you want.”
Tony was quick in his steps as he turned his back to Hank.
“You’ve never respected me. You’ve never respected anyone.”
It was enough for the man to turn once more and return to his position in front of Hank. The blonde gave a tight, victorious smirk as Tony glowered at him.
“I respected you.” Tony admitted, “I respected the hell out of you and Janet. You built your company. You even beat me in that damn space contract. The married geniuses of New York. From humble farming background to the heads of a national company.” Tony stopped as he looked at the hollow man that he was now talking to, “Hank, I respected the fuck out of you.”
The words tasted very strange on Tony’s tongue, for it was the first time that he had ever admitted reverence for a person. It was no lie, either. Tony was self-aware enough of his moods to know that as much as he hated it, there was a part of him that resented the self-made successes of the pair. Tony inherited a billion-dollar company and watched it fizzle in his palms. The Pyms built everything and, while not as large as Stark Industries, had worked hard to make a name for themselves. Perhaps that was why seeing the shrinking suit jabbed such a wound within Tony. It was yet another success for Hank while he was standing on the sidelines, feeling pointless for those around him.
Hank did not chuckle or laugh. The man rested his head against the glass, his eyes anchored to the ground. It was difficult for him to think straight. The horrific headaches spoke louder than any word in his mind. The nausea latched onto his muscles and made them quake. He was thirsty. Always thirty. Yet, through all of that, there was a single thing within his mind. It was a long while before he could speak and when he did so, it was with damp eyes and a look of immeasurable guilt.
“It was Janet in the end. I never would have started the company without her, or resume work on the particles.” He bit his lip, “I ruined this.”
“She would not be working without sleeping on a serum that works if she didn’t still love you.”
Tony shut himself up after that, not trusting his next comment. If that day was the day of Tony’s admissions, he could utter that Hank’s relationship was another source of extreme jealousy. A woman that had stood by him for decades, even during false rumours of affairs that made the news. A woman that, even after Hank ruining himself with a short-sighted serum, was still by his side, concerning only for his wellbeing. It was a love that was almost hard for Tony to look at. He had Jarvis, but his loyalties were more fatherly. Not once had any of Tony’s flings shown anything remotely like what the quivering man in front of him had.
“You know, I wanted to be you.” Hank said softly, still not looking up, “I wasn’t lying when I said it earlier. Part of me was so damn jealous of the balls that you have. You told a weapon’s company to go fuck themselves and that they’re making electronics and satellites and anything that didn’t kill. You changed two generations of a company to stop making news ways of killing people. I remember seeing when you announced the clean energy mission for Stark Industries, and I was amazed.” Tony looked away, “You were so…determined. I wanted that courage. Even when you were pissing everything away, part of me still wanted to be like you.”
“You shouldn’t want to be me.” Stated Tony in a dark manner, “Like you pointed out, not much going on for me. Not in the end.”
The pair stood in silence for several moments, not knowing what to say to the other. Tony’s self-resentment and insecurity was well and truly cutting into any other thoughts that dared enter his mind. Part of him was questioning why he had even ventured to visit the recovering man. Pity? Support? Boredom? It was probable a mix of all three. Yet, there was a mild sense of regret that he actually bothered. If he was uneasy easier, he was simply miserable now. No one should want to be like him. No one. The fact that someone had the stupidity to want his unfulfilled and failure ridden life was highly distressing for Tony. Hank should know better. He had Janet, a good life, a good career, consistent breakthroughs. Everything Tony didn’t. Why the hell would he want to be like Tony? It was deeply confronting and uncomfortable to hear. So much so that it robbed Tony of the ability to talk.
For Hank, he knew Tony was right. On paper, Tony was not the man that he had once been. He was an open alcoholic with a possible sex addiction that was burying the company that he had inherited. The man was practically a case study on what money and too much pressure does to a person. Yet, as much as Hank knew those points to be true, he was still envious of Tony’s earlier determination to change his company. It made Hank feel like a child, but he still admired the man for it. It was a courage that Hank needed, one that he felt that the serum had given him. That, and the ability to protect and help those that he loved. A mindset that had led him into a magical cell as his body went through the horror that was withdrawals.
“I guess we’re both fuckups, then.” Hank said as he leaned away from glass.
Tony stood back, placing his hands in his pockets. Without looking at Hank, he turned on his heel and began walking towards the door.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
***
“You look seriously look dead, man.” Harry grimaced as he leaned next to Peter’s locker.
Peter’s lack of rest and consistent training sessions were taking a toll on the teen. His face had turned several shades paler and dark bags clung to his eyes. His usually unkempt hair was a bird’s nest and there was a small shade of stubble shadowing his chin. In many ways, he was starting to resemble Strange’s wearisome appearance. To make matters worse, his exhaustion was playing on his paranoia. While Strange seemed certain that the vampires wouldn’t attack him at a school, Peter’s senses were on overdrive. Every student moving behind him, every shifting shadow, every football tossed in the hallway, they all just spun his mind around. It was why Harry had asked the wide-eyed Peter that was crouching near their table if he had taken a form of heroine before class.
“Just tired.” Peter smiled in a thin, dry lipped line.
“If a cougar came across you in the wild, it’d leave you alone, thinking that you’d already been eaten.” Charlie Weiderman added from his place beside Harry.
The brunette was quite similar to Peter in his rather unimpressive statue. While he was contrastingly short, he was also quite skinny and meek looking, hiding his square head behind thick, red glasses. Peter rolled his eyes at the jab and lazily slid some books into his bag. Captain America, Jen, Thor and even the freakishly silent vampire chick got to go on some grand adventure while he was stuck learning about soliloquies. It was not as if he was incapable of defending himself or others. He had handled himself very well against that vampire, until he almost died of blood loss. The city of New York had been under his protection for over a year and many a superpowered foe had challenged that protection. He even had a new suit to wear. Yet, there he was, still standing and still alive. Alive just to sit down and take notes while others got to visit Lebanon. A deeply sore feeling of missing out stung at his chest, making him even grumpier.
“Still up for observatory this Friday?” Charlie asked, excitement shining in his glasses, “Anna is still coming.”
While Peter gave a dull nod, Harry went rather red. Peter noticed that there was a twitch to his lip and, as he murmured his response, he began very interested in the crowded hallway. Even in Peter’s weary state, he was still able to pick up on what was said.
“You have…a date?” Peter repeated, the words feeling odd on his tongue.
The ferret-like boy smiled in a mix of smugness and youthful embarrassment. He leaned against the door and nodded as subtly as he could. Both Peter and Charlie turned. A short girl with cropped blonde hair was eagerly chatting to a beautiful redheaded girl. Peter craned his head back to Harry, his eyes strained in disbelief.
“Liz Allen? Liz Allen agreed to go on a date?”
“Thinking the arcade.” Harry continued, “She mentioned she liked the blueberry soda there.”
“Did your father hire her?” Charlie asked nervously, “Or blackmailing her parents?”
“Oh, screw you.” Harry spat, “I asked her after algebra.”
“Right.” Peter murmured.
This truly was the dark times. If Harry, one of the few people as socially awkward as he was, had managed to get a date, then Peter really was in trouble. Though, perhaps it was the wealth. The thought vanished as soon as it came. Liz wasn’t the type of girl to only date someone for the cash and Harry wasn’t the type to start a conversation with that. In fact, Liz tended to be more fixated on the A.V. and photography clubs more than anything. As a member of both, Peter had grown to see just how argumentative she could be over a project that wasn’t to her high standards. How the hell Harry fit into any of said standards was beyond Peter. He wasn’t an ugly or dumb person, it was just that Liz had a very certain level of expectations about everything. Yet, as much as Peter struggled to comprehend it, the fact still remained. Harry had a date with Liz.
The childish jealousy continued well into the afternoon. As happy as he was that Harry had managed to land a date with someone, there was still the mild pang in his chest that he was still left behind. The faint sensation that he was missing out on something that others around him were enjoying openly, sometimes in graphic displays in the hallway. While not everyone in his grade was dating, many had managed to boast sustainable past relationships. Peter had been on several dates, most ending with a confused look at either his shyness or his passion for science and science fiction. In Harry’s opinion, Peter was just aiming for ‘the wrong type of girls, pal. You need to find someone as…geek friendly as you”. Unfortunately, even many of the nerdier girls were in relationships or were too intense, even for Peter. He had other duties, anyway. Saving the world from vampires was a key one. Making sure Scorpion didn’t kill anymore people even remotely related to the chemical processing industry being another. He had better priorities than girls. Girls that seemed completely uninterested in him, someone that regularly beat up people trying to destroy the city.
“Okay, you’re pissy.” Harry murmured as the bell rang, signalling the end to chemistry.
“I’m not, just tired.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. He was averaging only a few hours sleep each night. Training with Steve each day was also taking a toll on the teen. The man was a super soldier and even Peter’s unusual healing was struggling to keep up with the many aches that were given by the older man. Harry smiled knowingly as he zipped up his bag and swung it over his shoulder.
“Let’s be fair. You’ve had more dates than me.” He pointed out.
“I’m not jealous.” Peter protested, but Harry’s grin continued to shine.
“Sure, sure.”
As they walked through the busy hallway, Harry’s eyes flicked back to his friend. He looked terrible. His arms were dragging behind him, his head was lowered, and his eyes were clearly struggling to stay open. Maybe being single really was affecting him. He didn’t take Peter as needing company of the female kind, but he was only human. It certainly didn’t help that Flash made very vocal points about Peter’s lack of attractiveness and lameness for not dating anyone. Peter certainly wasn’t ugly or unfit, he just…talked either too little or too much. It was hardly the worst issue, especially compared to some of their other classmates. The girls that he had previously asked out just weren’t…his type of girl, that was all. His type of girl…
Harry smiled to himself, and he wrapped an arm around Peter, patting his chest with the other. Peter, who had not been paying attention, stiffed at the contact and almost threw Harry into the nearest wall.
“Wh-What’s happening?” He asked in a groggy tone.
“You owe me for this.”
Before Peter could inquire about the vague statement, Harry had slunk off of him. Instead of walking towards his own locker, Harry made a detour to a pair of girls chatting eagerly amongst themselves. Peter watched as a suddenly rigid Harry smiled softly at Liz and gave her a stiff, one-armed hug around the shoulders. They were clearly not on touching terms, much to Peter’s amusement. His amusement soon turned to anxiety as he watched Harry turn and talk to the dusky skinned girl next to them. Sajani. One of the newer additions to the A.V. club and one of the few people in chemistry and physics class that Peter genuinely struggled to compete with. She was also one of the loudest, most confident women that Peter had ever been near. Anxiety soon turned to utter dread as Harry nodded towards Peter, encouraging Sajani’s eyes to flash towards him. He wasn’t. Harry had more intelligence than this. He had more subtly than this. This was not how a person wingmanned another. This was how a friend led someone to slaughter. This was only confirmed as Sajani stepped towards Peter.
Time seemed to move at a speed that Peter couldn’t register. Despite being at least a dozen metres away, Sajani was before him when he had finished his blink. The teen was awake, more awake than he had been the entire day. His breathing was non-existent as the admittedly attractive girl stood several feet in front of him, appraising him closely. He didn’t even like her, not romantically. Yet, the mix of shyness and being shoved into the situation so suddenly made Peter act as though she was the subject to a decades long crush. She wouldn’t be the worst to date. In fact, Peter would be quite lucky to see her. She was smart, pretty, funny. She was also a part of most of the clubs Peter was, so there had to be some common interests.
“Harry said you had some question about the camera we’re hoping to fundraise for?”
That was Harry’s lead in. A topic so removed from anything dating and romantic and even basic conversations that it left Peter with about three centimetres to wiggle with. Were it possible without being too obvious to Sajani, Peter would have given Harry a murderous look. He took a moment to appraise the situation. It wasn’t entirely hopeless. He had fought people intent on killing him, after all. A simple conversation with a tall, ebony haired girl that was staring directly into his eyes was nothing compared to that. No. It was entirely worse.
“Yeah, um, what…What model did you want, again?”
Sajani looked a mixed of bemused and judgemental at the comment. He didn’t blame her. It was literally on a homemade poster that she had brought to the club meeting the day prior. Harry was a dead man.
“The new Minota model. The one that I said has a far wider range of the colour spectrum?”
“Right. Yeah, of course. Um, and…Ah.”
Peter’s mind threw fifty different links into arranging a possible date, each as bad as the other. He needed some sort of bridging comment. Perhaps, she would like to take photos with him of the park? Yes, that was a decent suggestion. It was clear that he was taking longer than expected, given the impatient look that she was getting. It was one that was soon replaced by a wide-eyed expression. An expression that shifted into both sympathy and mild embarrassment. It was a look that Peter had received several times already.
“You’re…Are you…trying to ask me out? It’s not the worst attempt.”
Her smile grew sweeter at his embarrassed look. Peter simply grunted in defeat, already thinking of the best way to salvage the situation. Much to his gratitude, Sajani wasn’t snickering or smirking. If anything, she looked as if she was in the middle of a personal debate. When she spoke, it was with great care.
“I’m…You’re not my type.”
Peter sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah, I figured. Look, I didn’t mean to be stupid or make things weird. I get it-”
“No, Pete.” Her voice lowered, and she seemed highly uncomfortable.
She made sure that none of the loud and marching students around them were within hearing distance as she learned in.
“You’re not my type.”
Her eyes flickered to his groin for the briefest of moments. It took Peter longer than it should have to understand her underlined point. Peter exhaled again, not from embarrassment but from the severe annoyance aimed at his friend. Harry would not live past the day. On the plus side, it was the first rejection that Peter had received where it was not due to his appearance or personality. Strangely enough, he was actually quite happy about that.
“Oh. Oh! Oh?”
“Oh indeed.” Sajani murmured before thrusting a finger at him, “Not a word, okay? Don’t need that going through the school. It’s my business, okay?”
“Nope. Not a word. Not at all.” Peter promised.
“Good. Have a good afternoon, Pete. Try not to let Harry stitch you up like this again.”
“I won’t.” Peter nodded with his teeth gritted.
His eyes finally returned to Harry, who was being lectured rather severely by Liz. The blonde was speaking with hushed tones, but her fingers were repeatedly jabbed towards Sajani. Suffice to say, it was clear that he didn’t know of Sajani’s preferences either but Liz did. As he waddled back to Peter with a tomato red face, his friend was tempted to deck him in the gut. The only thing stopped Peter was the fact that it would probably kill him.
“Seriously, man?” Peter hissed.
“I didn’t know she was a lesbian.” Harry whispered as they walked towards the school exit.
“Didn’t know…Harry, who the hell sets their friend up with a conversation on camera purchases? How the hell am I meant to work with that?”
“I didn’t know what else you had in common. You’re both part of the same clubs. It was either cameras, maths or computers.”
“Computers, Harry.” Peter shook his head in disbelief, “You pick computers. Why? Because there’s lots to talk about with computers. There’s nothing to talk about with what camera to buy.”
“Look, I tried.” Harry sighed, his cheeks still very red, “Now Liz is upset at me.”
“That makes two of us.” Peter muttered.
“Oh, c’mon. I was trying to do you a favour. Yeah, I screwed the landing, but the intent was there.”
“Camera brands.” Peter shook his head, “Besides, I’ve barely spoken to Sajani outside of the clubs and class. I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling it.” He added quickly, in a small attempt to look not too put down by the recent events.
“Peter, we’re not exactly star football players. We can’t exactly…be picky or vain.”
Peter snorted as they stepped onto the pavement. The weather was fair, and the warmth of the sun felt good on Peter’s aching eyes. He would need to take a left and walk to the nearest set of alleyways. A portal hidden as a poster of INXS was waiting for him there.
“I know, I know. It just sucks, you know? Even Flash is getting some.” Peter sighed, “I’m thinking of joining a book club, at this rate.”
“Only single mothers go to those.” Harry grimaced before laughing.
“The only chicks that have ever spoken to me were older.” Peter countered in a lame tone.
“Peter, the blonde you mentioned was like…two years older? Not in her forties. Older girl, not old girl. Besides, it’s weird dating an older girl.”
“Half the people in our grade are dating girls below us.”
“Yeah, but…that’s normal. Think about it. How often do you see a couple where the guy’s three or four years older? Like, in adults. Then, when’s the last time you saw the girl being the older one in the relationship?”
Peter thought for a moment.
“Didn’t Sam Bucasa date that girl three years older?”
“Yeah, but I’m still of the opinion it was an arranged marriage in the making.” He, along with half the school at the time, “Look, my point is, why don’t you ask someone out in the grade below?”
“Like who?”
“Betty Brant.” Harry said immediately, with no hesitation at all.
“The girl who turned you down?” Peter snickered, “I’m good.”
“Okay…The goth chick?”
“Harry.” Peter raised his brow, “You’re getting worse.”
They stood in silence as they waited for Harry’s driver to arrive.
“It wouldn’t…It wouldn’t be the worst thing to date an older chick, right? Like, if they were into…Battlestar and stuff.”
“I…guess it depends on how old.” Harry chuckled, “I think…three years max.”
“Three?”
“You’re right. Two. It’d be weird for a college student to date someone from high school.”
“We’re in college next year.” Peter shrugged, “It’s less weird if we’re in college, right?”
Harry stared at Peter for a long moment. A sly smile formed and he took a step closer.
“What’s her name?”
If possible, Peter went even paler. That was all that was needed for Harry to chuckle.
“C’mon, you like someone older. Do you a thing for older girls? Noticing a habit here.”
“Oh, shut up. I do not.” He exhaled and eyed the carpark, praying that a familiar black car would be appearing soon, “Look, I’m just thinking. College is coming up, and I…I just don’t want it to be a repeat of high school.”
Harry nodded knowingly, in a similar mindset to his friend. While they were hardly the most bullied in school, it was still a confusing and frustrating place with too many cliques and social circles to navigate well.
“It won’t be.” Harry eyes drifted to the black car pulling up and he gritted his teeth, “There are older girls that are students in college.” He grinned.
“I don’t have a thing for older girls.” Peter elbowed his ribs as he carefully as he could.
It was still enough to wind Harry and almost make him fall to his knees.
***
As Jackie pressed the straw to her lips and felt a strong taste spread on her tongue in a thickly manner, she could not help but bitterly wonder how she ended up in a small town in Lebanon. She was going to college. She was going to be a teacher. She was going to go back to England to show her rather entitled family how she had made a life for herself in America. Yet, one God damn stroll at night and a giant orangutan later, she was being throttled by a Nordic god and pressured into hiding in a magic basement. She should have never agreed to go for that evening walk. The reasoning was pathetic, too. Desmond, a friend that was due to enter college with her, had asked if she wanted to study some course materials at his apartment. Being handsome and charming, she accepted and was out her door only minutes had he had called. It would be the last time that the naïve girl ran to someone’s house so eagerly as night was turning.
To make matters worse, her current companions were not exactly like her usual introverted friends who enjoyed exchanging book suggestions over coffee and spending evenings watching tapes. Captain America was less than two metres away from her, currently reading something that Strange had given him. The large man was poorly hidden beneath a baseball cap, large sunglasses despite it being evening, and a collared jacket that attempted to hide his cheeks and jaw. Resting at his feet was a round bag used for carrying bicycle wheels. Instead of such a wheel, the bag held an object that even the British had to study in school. Thor was at his side. His human attire was just the god throwing a very large raincoat over his armour. It was either laziness or genus, given how simple it was and how easy it would be for him to rip it away in a fight. It was also probably very dumb, given that a single gust of wind could reveal metal clothing beneath it. The Aesir was staring at the mountains with an unreadable face. If she were to guess, he was suspicious of something.
“This is great.”
The sound of a camera clicking and a flash of light made Jackie turn. Jennifer was beaming in excitement and joy as she stared at the stone houses around them. Without looking, she took the polaroid out of the camera and waved it several times in the air as she continued to find new parts of the town to document. The brunette was wearing simple jeans with a lighter blue top and a faded green jacket. Unlike everyone else, she was simply having the time of her life.
“It’s a town?” Jackie shrugged, “There’s nothing interesting here. Maybe the stable that we just passed or the football game on the tellie we just passed.”
“Oh, I love all of this.” Jennifer turned and smiled shyly at Jackie, “I’ve never left America.”
“How old are you, again?”
Jennifer didn’t answer. She was too busy smiling behind a camera as she took a photo of a wall lined with several brightly coloured carpets and sheets. Jackie couldn’t be too grouchy at her. She was the exact same when she first arrived in America. If she were brave enough to return to her old apartment, she may be able to still find her old photo albums.
“I think I’ve found the way.” Steve called, drawing the attention of Jennifer and Jackie, “It’ll be difficult to find in the dark, but I think the mountain in front of us is the one in the drawing.”
Steve didn’t seem entirely convinced. Jackie took the journal from him and, using her heightened sight, looked from the sketch of a mountain range to the one several kilometres before them. As she took several steps forward, her nose twitched. She sniffed. A panicked feeling bloomed in her gut as she quickly registered the faint scent that seemed to get stronger by the edge of the tone.
“You can smell them.” Thor called, his eyes still fixed upon the mountain.
Steve looked around as subtly as he could, his hand reaching for his concealed shielded. Thor turned, one hand hidden within his raincoat.
“You can sense them?” Steve asked softly, “How many?”
Thor didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes slid to Jackie and gave her what she could only understand as a silencing look.
“None are near.”
Jackie frowned but quickly relaxed upon seeing Thor’s lip tighten at her. She could smell the acidic smell of blood that often followed vampires. There were many different scents, each foul in their own way. Yet, two were stronger than the others. Two were far closer than the others, and Thor knew that. The god turned back to Steve as he walked backwards towards the road leading to the mountains.
“We need no map.” He chuckled, “The demons have arrived before us. We have our trail. Come! They have a lead.”
Thor grinned wildly as he broke into a sprint, running faster than any man could. Steve muttered and looked around for any possible onlookers. Thankfully, it was deep enough into the night that most of the town’s folk were eating or asleep. The soldier broke into a mad dash, desperate to follow the man hungrily sprinting towards his hunt. If the vampires were already on the mountain, there was a strong chance that Strange was right. Atlanteans still lived, and that could change the odds in their favour. Jackie jumped slightly as someone next to her cleared her throat. Jennifer smiled in an awkward manner and swayed slightly.
“Not to be weird, but, you know, for the sake of keeping up without ruining my clothes…”
Jackie’s eyebrows rose as she understood the silent request.
“No.”
“C’mon. It’s not weird. Look, Thor’s already halfway up the mountain. We’re just two adults…One carrying the other. It’s not weird.”
Jackie groaned but didn’t say anything. Instead, she felt her cheeks grow red as she presented her back to the other woman. She missed the wide smile as she felt two hands on her shoulders and a pair of legs wrap around her hips.
“This is ridiculous.” The redhead muttered as she started to sprint through the dry grass, carrying a suddenly nauseous Jennifer on her back.
The group maintained their pursuit for some time. For Steve, it was difficult to see where to put his feet. The darkened sky only merged the ground with shadows. Had it not been for the glimpses of shining metals beneath a dark coat, he would have lost Thor entirely. Jackie was the only one that was not struggling, her senses having become tuned to the dark and evenings due to Varnae curse. Her only problem was the wheezing woman clutched at her body whenever she ‘moved too fast’, which was apparently often. As they climbed the mountain passage, they were gifted with a beautiful sight. The moon shining on the ocean below, shattering a bright light across countless ripples of black. Had she not been holding back her stomach, Jennifer would have requested the chance for a photo.
Without warning, Thor stilled.
“What’s wrong? Lost the trail?” Steve asked as he tried to see Thor’s face in the darkness.
“No, Steve Rogers. We are simply far away enough from the town to avoid unwanted death.”
Steve was silent, trying to understand if it was a Nordic or Asgardian riddle or poem. Thor didn’t elaborate as he walked past him. Standing on an outcrop of stone and staring at the town several kilometres away, he threw off the raincoat. A large hammer stood proud within his previously hidden arm.
“There are two demons that have been skulking in the town.” He called out.
As his voice carried down the slopes, Steve hastily withdrew his shield. Jennifer was quick to slide off of Jackie’s back and, without warning, began to pull down her jeans and remove her shirt. It was only as another leotard was revealed that Steve stopped panicking.
“A hostage or a traitor?” A voice called.
Jackie turned, squinting as her eyes focussed through the shadows of the trees and rock. A woman was glaring at her with severe contempt as she stood upon a rocky ledge. Jackie was quick to point to her, allowing a suddenly green Jennifer and Steve to see the foe obscured by the darkness.
“She has a radio.” Jackie whispered, noticing that the vampire in front of her clicking something in her hand several times.
“There’ll be more here soon.” The woman explained in a neutral tone, “You can’t fight all of us, even with your traitor.”
“Excuse me for not wanting a monkey to rule the world.” Jackie scoffed, “He has his followers kill anyone that’s too weak or kind to fight. That’s totally sane, isn’t it?”
“I’ve fought dictators and madmen before.” Steve added with a fierceness to his tone, “No one deserves control of the entire world.”
“Send your armies.” Thor shrugged, “Your scourge will be burnt from this innocent world. Surrender, and I shall grant you mercy.”
“What’s Scandinavian for ‘go fuck yourself with that hammer’?”
Thor grinned, but so did she. Jackie didn’t need to wonder why. The soft sound of running made her ears twitch. Within a matter of moments, she was aware of at least six other vampires hiding in the darkness. Thor stood forward and threw his arm up, staring at the sky beyond Mjolnir. No clouds or lightning appear. The sky did not quake, and the winds did not howl. Nothing changed. The sounds of snickers alerted Jennifer and Steve to the remaining vampires, encouraging them to form a circle with Jackie. Thor exhaled bitterly and tossed his hammer to the ground in what was clear disgust and pain.
“So be it.” Thor growled as his clenched fists erupted in purple streaks of lightning.
***
As Nasan and Hannibal squeezed through the tight corridor of rock, the latter was on the verge to backhanding his advisor. There had been only hours of looking for the vaguest of signs and landmarks. The sun had already turned to the moon, making them rely on their heightened senses to understand what their ‘map’ was showing them. It had taken them far across the mountain range, where the air had grown cold and stiff. Pools of water were the last clue that Nasan was confident in, and those had been seen well over two hours prior. Every other step was a careful guess. One after the other, all leading to a small cave only accessible by sliding through one’s side.
“If this is just a cave, I will…”
Nasan’s smile stopped Hannibal’s tirade. The advisor was pointing to the cave’s wall, where a rusted torch was nailed into the rock. Hannibal grew quiet as he registered what the object could me. Soon, he patted his old friend on the shoulder.
“Let’s not get too worried.” Nasan whispered, “It’s only a torch.”
“A torch in a cave in a mountain range.” Hannibal’s tone was heavy, “Let us continue.”
The pair’s anxiety faded into miserable acceptance within several more seconds. As soon as they walked past the torch, it erupted with a blue flame that cooled into red. Suddenly, dozens of flames burst around them, revealing a passageway of stone and rock and, much to Nasan’s fascination, sand. Sand littered the ground, not dirt. Hannibal was silent as they walked. He could taste the magic around them and knew it well, for it was the breed of Varnae’s talents. The journal was right. The Sorcerer Supreme had found something Atlantean in this place. If more did still live, then perhaps it was a mistake even coming here. Still, Hannibal needed to know for sure. Perhaps, he could seek the wisdom of his siblings afterwards.
The passageway soon led into a large dome-shaped room with a sandy slope leading to the floor. At the end of the circular room was an object that drained any hope from Hannibal’s demonic soul. Two engraved pillars made from a strange onyx stone stood untouched. Around them were several bronze bowls of stilled water. The markings where unlike any that Nasan had seen, but Hannibal knew them immediately. Varnae used to wear cloaks and robes with similar symbols. The advisor gave his master a look of great concern. He had seen Hannibal uncomfortable many times. Not once had the vampire ever seen him with fear in his eyes as he did standing before the pillars.
“Should we leave?” Nasan asked.
Hannibal didn’t answer immediately, his mind pondering.
“Would wisdom have us destroy this place?” He turned to look at Nasan with weary eyes, “To ensure that…I don’t know.”
“To ensure that this does not escalate?”
A silent conversation occurred between the two men. While Nasan was admittedly terrified of Varnae and the many stories that Hannibal had told of his great power, his loyalty to Hannibal won out. He had followed him for over a thousand years, he would not waver when his creator needed his aid. Nasan nodded and began walking to one of the pillars. A pillar that hummed. The bowls vibrated as the water lifted into the air. With a violent whoosh, the pools of water fly at the pillars and merged into a single sheet of water between them. A gateway. One that sighed as a figure stepped through.
He was a tall man with pale skin and sharp, black hair cut into a tight crop that was shaved at sides. His chest was bare and extremely muscular, his arms thick and strong. His legs were covered in a green and gold pant that were not made from any material that the vampires could recognise. It was a waxy, almost plant-like material that clung tightly to the obvious muscles within his legs. Within his right hand rested a sceptre of gold. A craned tool that looked like an ornamental scythe, glistening with strange jewels of pink and yellow. Upon his face was a mocking grin.
“Vampires.” He acknowledged with a faint chuckle, “It has been an age since our peoples met.”
Hannibal stepped towards him, his face calm and collected.
“You’re Atlantean?”
The question seemed to have more meaning than Nasan or Hannibal understood. The man before them snarled and sneered at them, almost turning his head away from them as he spoke.
“Despite my skin, dirt walker, I am Atlantean. You stand before the mighty guardian of the seas, Prince Namor of Atlantis, and you will show your respect.” Namor warned, baring his glistening teeth at them.
It was over. Atlanteans still survived and if they did, Varnae would no doubt know sooner or later. The type of life that Hannibal and his siblings enjoyed would be over. Their small kingdoms would be torn down. Varnae would rebuild his people and their culture, there was no doubt about that.
“I mean no disrespect.” Hannibal lowered his head, as he did with Varnae, “I am in service of one of your creations.”
“Oh?” Namor stamped his sceptre into the rock and crossed his arms, “Do tell, do tell.”
“Varnae.”
“Varnae?” Namor shrugged, clearly not understanding the name, “Am I meant to pretend to know such a name?”
“The…Giganthopitacus that was turned into-”
“Oh!” Namor laughed merrily, “The ape. Yes, we sensed that he had returned. Well, I hope he’s enjoying the new age of man.”
Hannibal’s calm demeanour almost broke. Did this prince not understand the significance of Varnae’s return? He was one of their creations, one that started an entire species. While silent, his actions on Earth were not insignificant. The being had only just recently killed the Sorcerer Supreme. Surely that was worth the interest of his creators.
“Do you not wish to reunite with him? He is very eager to rebuild your culture and spread it to the currents races of man.”
“Using what?” Namor frowned before shaking his head dismissively, “A book? Some trinkets that survived the Collapse? Varnae may try to resurrect our forebears’ ways of life. Let him. Even we have moved beyond that period in our society.”
Hannibal paused, suddenly gaining great hope. They had no interest in controlling the world. Varnae have be alone in his attempts at a renaissance, even amongst his own people. The High Vampires could retain their ways of life. Hannibal would not need to constantly live under the watch of Varnae. He was almost grinning.
“If that is the case, Prince Namor, then why not meet him? He is clearly misguided. He could use your wisdom and to see where your people have take-”
“Why would I welcome such a beast into my kingdom?”
Namor looked offended by such an idea. His curled his lip into an unpleasant expression as he began to pace.
“We are…somewhat aware of his deeds before his exile from this world. His little cult was adorable, but resulted in countless onslaughts, rapes, collapses of empires. He was an experiment. A violent one, at that. We have no desire to reopen old wounds. Not from two thousand years ago.”
“Prince Namor,” Hannibal said slowly, “He is hunting artefacts to find something that can rebuild your culture. Surely that’s worth your attention, even just to talk to him.”
“I will not repeat myself, dirt walker.” Namor stated irritably, “We will have nothing to do with him. Let him waste his time looking through the remains of an old empire.”
“And if he finds you?” Nasan asked softly.
Namor’s eyes hardened. Both vampires watched with unease as Namor began to stroke his sceptre.
“He will never find us.”
“We did.” Hannibal stated in a low tone.
The room was silent for several moments as Namor glanced at each of them closely.
“Yes, so you did.” He murmured to himself.
“You refuse to have any association with Varnae?” Hannibal tried once more, “He is not someone to be ignored.”
“Maybe not for lesser peoples, but Atlantis has more pressing concerns and foes.”
With that Namor turned his back to them. Something within Hannibal snapped. He had come too far to be treated in such a way and with such ignorance. He needed Namor to understand the resolve and newfound power that Varnae had. If he did, perhaps he would address Varnae without any one else needing to. Or, they would talk Varnae out of resurrecting their culture. At bare minimum, surely they would take him to wherever they were hiding and away from the domain of Hannibal.
The vampire sprint forward, grabbing Namor’s wrist within a second.
“You need to understand.” Hannibal snapped, “He will come for you. He wants that.”
Namor looked in the direction that Hannibal was pointing. Nasan was holding open a sketch of a symbol that Varnae had shown his children many times. It was the symbol of what they were to hunt so passionately. Namor’s face slackened and his eyes seemed to strain with the smallest show of concern. It was still enough for Hannibal to recognise. He released Namor’s wrist as the prince turned to stare at the drawing with silence and a strong attempt at concealing as much emotion as possible.
“He won’t find it.” Namor whispered, “It’s destroyed. You can tell your master that.” He hissed before turning his back to them once more.
“You need to-”
Hannibal’s second attempt at grabbing Namor ended with a sceptre thrust at his neck. As he leaned back and felt the cold, dripping metal on his throat, he looked at Namor with fear. The grip on his arm was as strong as vampire’s, if not more so. They truly were a mighty race. Namor stiffened as a hand wrapped around his throat and a snarl echoed in the room.
“Let him go, prince.” Nasan warned.
“Surrender, dirt walkers. I have been trained since birth to hunt deadlier foes than you.”
“I need you to talk to Varnae.” Hannibal tried one last time.
“I will have nothing to do with the abomination. He is a failed experiment, and an embarrassment. I will not tarnish my rule by associating with him.”
“Please,” Hannibal requested with humility, “I ask-”
“I will not repeat myself.” Namor hissed, pressing his sceptre closer to Hannibal’s throat.
As he did so, Nasan squeezed harder. The chain reaction occurred within a mere second. Namor threw Hannibal and, using his freed hand, grasped his sceptre for a large swing. Nasan rolled out of the way just as Hannibal attempted to tackle Namor from behind. The Atlantean was fast. With a simple step the side, he was able to push Hannibal off balance and land a fist into his head. The sand spurted around Hannibal as he collapsed into it, causing Nasan to jump in front of his master. Namor smirked and spun his sceptre in his hand. Nasan leapt forward. Punch after punch was knocked away with ease using the sceptre, Namor chuckling as he did so. The arrogance fuelled Nasan’s rage, causing him to lose concentration. It was that lose of focus that led him to mistime a swipe at Namor’s head. It was too slow. At the last second, the Atlantean knocked away the arm and flipped his sceptre, plunging the sharpened edge into Nasan’s heart.
“Nasan!” Hannibal bellowed as his closest follower dropped to his knees.
As he fell onto the ground, his body turned motionless. Hannibal was in disbelief. The encounter had been less than a few moments. Yet, Nasan was already dead. With gritted teeth, he glared with such depth that it would cause a normal fear to quiver in fear. Unfortunately, Namor could only chuckle at the expression as the two circle each other. Within ten seconds, the pair sprung at each other. Hannibal’s sheer ferocity took the cocky prince by surprise. The vampire grasped the sceptre and dug his feet into the sand, matching forward. He snarled as he slammed Namor into the wall, the sceptre pressing against his throat. The prince landed a shot to his ribs and then his knee, enough to make Hannibal slacken his pressure on the sceptre. Namor ducked and followed with a jump, his fist striking the side of Hannibal’s face with such force that he felt something crack. As he staggered back, he was quick to defend himself with a kick that added distance between them.
Namor snorted as he spun his sceptre in his hands. It was clear that he did not enjoy being on the defensive. With a feral noise, the prince charged forwards and swung his weapon at Hannibal’s ribs. The vampire rolled and leaped, tackling Namor’s chest and forcing him to drop the sceptre. The pair growled as they struck each other with bare fists, their postures resembling old fashioned boxers from the eighteen hundreds. For every blow that Hannibal landed, he received one of his own. Yet, he was still pushing Namor into the wall. His face was cut and bruised from the severity of the High Vampire’s punches, each strong enough to easily kill a man. Hannibal’s determination to kill the man was absolute. Nasan had served him well, and friendship in their hellish existence was hard to come by. His hand tightened around a panting Namor’s throat and slammed him into the wall. Pulling his arm back, he prepared his strongest stroke to the face. He gasped. His air was being pushed out of his lungs. Peering at his chest, he saw a silver dagger pressed into it. Namor twisted it, making him gasp weakly at the horrific agony.
“Che…Cheat.” He spat.
Namor glared at him, doing his best to ignore the flaring emotions that formed from the insult as Hannibal collapsed in front of him. The last look on the High Vampire’s face was one that made the prince want to rip his head off: judgement. He was a vampire, he did not deserve honour. Still, the final words of the vampire made the victorious Atlantean sneer. He knelt before the watery gate and murmured a prayer a gratitude before splashing some water into his cut and bruised face. Within moments of the water touching his skin, the wounds faded, and the cuts sealed. Within mere seconds, the prince only looked slightly tired from the ordeal. Kicking the sceptre into his hand, Namor turned to the gateway when he heard something from the far end of the entrance.
“What the…What the hell did we miss?” A giant jade woman asked.
A strange group walked down the slopes onto the sand. A human that seemed off, changed, unique. He was panting and cut in many places, yet he carried a very strange, circular shield emblazoned with a star in the centre. At his side was a man that was no human. He towered above the already muscular man and wore armour that was not from any surface culture that Namor’s tutors had shown him. He was older and carried himself with great weight, which was perhaps how he was carrying such an odd looking hammer strapped to his back. Namor soon turned his attention to the females, whom he found to be far more pleasing to his eyes. The vampire had a soft, gentle face but the tears to her clothing whispered something else. She was not amongst her kind, making Namor quite intrigued. His main interest, however, was the beauty next to her. Tallest amongst any of them and a delicious shade of green, the woman’s body was perfection. Her hips were round and her breasts heavy, and her confidence shone in the way that she carried herself. She was no feeble woman, she was a warrior. One with…strange and tight blue and grey clothing that was torn in more places than not. Namor cared not, however, for it only meant more enticing skin was on display.
“If you are looking for the vampire scum,” Namor grinned as he held himself high, “You are too late. I claimed your kill.”
“Oh, thank god.” The green woman murmured, “After a dozen of the freaks, I can’t handle another.”
“And who are you?” The blonde human asked, still clearly apprehensive and ready for an attack.
It amused Namor that his sheer presence could garner such a response from a large human. But it was to be expected, after all. He was the prince and protector of Atlantis.
“I am Namor, Prince of Atlantis, Guardian of the Rift, Heir to the Dwellings of the Seven, soon to be Weidler of the-”
“Did this…filth approach you because the creature?” The bulking man with the hammer asked.
The mention turned Namor’s stomach. He hated being interrupted at the best of times, but why was everyone so fixated on the ape? He was a failure. A few dozen vampires on the hunt for a lost tool was hardly worth a prince’s time.
“The ape,” Namor sighed, “Oh yes, the ape. Apparently, he’s looking for my people. Are you, as well?”
There was an edge to the question, and he watched as three of the four of them looked uncomfortable. Only the large one seemed unphased by Namor’s presence, and that fact insulted him to no end.
“He’s breeding an army. Hundreds around the world have already been turned, and they’re feeding on innocent people.” The human stated, “We need to stop him. He’s already killed the Sorcerer Supreme and wiped out their order.”
“No more sorcerers?” Namor frowned.
It was the first time that the group saw a genuine emotion of concern from the Atlantean. Noticing this, Namor quickly adopted a mildly unimpressed expression.
“That explains the lack of messages lately. A shame.”
“A shame?” The green beauty asked in disgust, “He’s responsible for countless murders and abductions. You created him. Don’t you even care about what your actions have done?”
Namor did his best not to sneer at such a foolish comment.
“My dear, I did not create the ape. He was bred centuries ago, within an age of my people long past. How he survived the Collapse is still baffling. His actions are his own. If he wishes to challenge us, he will be destroyed. If he wishes to join us, he will be…welcome to try. My citadel has been untouched since the Collapse. I do not fear him.”
“Plenty of others do.” The human stated with a firm tone, “Just because this isn’t effecting your own people now doesn’t mean that countless others are suffering.”
“I have my own affairs, dirt walker.”
“Which will be impacted when Varnae comes knocking on your door.” Steve pointed out, “Do you really think that you can wait this out?”
“Do you really think that I can’t?” Namor smirked, “I’ve led my people against many foes. We can handle ourselves. It is not my concern that others apparently cannot.”
“My god, you’re a dick.” The green one stated abruptly.
Namor only chuckled and grinned widely, his eyes scanning the many signs of battle that graced her stretched attire.
“My dear, I am soon to rule a kingdom that you cannot dream of.” He took several steps forward, “Perhaps, I could show you?”
Her face scrunched up in embarrassment, confusion, and a clear inability to know what to say. That much was clear when she started mumbling.
“Please, do not be so shy. You are remarkable woman, that is clear. Look at you. I like my women remarkable. I could show the depths of the seas and the showering jewels of the oceans,” His voice turned to a hush, “amongst other things.” He grinned.
The green woman’s confusion melted into offended anger. She actually took a step towards him, much to Namor’s wonder, but the large non-human got to him first. The older man eyed Namor with pity, not insult, spoke with the same voice that his counsel used when addressing him.
“That mortal just killed several vampires by beating them. Do not test her resolve, as humorous for us to watch as it would be.”
Namor’s nostrils flared and he stood his ground as he glared up at the large man.
“And who are you to speak to the Prince of Atlantis in such a way?”
“The Prince of Asgard.”
Namor chuckled, but noticed the complete look of seriousness on everyone’s face. He stepped back, suddenly understanding the nature of the hammer as well. Thor. An Aesir. Varnae was not the only one that had returned to Earth, it seemed. He had picked a fight with the gods of Asgard as well. The situation was clearly more complexed than Namor had given credit. Perhaps, it would be wise to investigate the situation further. Especially given that tool he was after.
“From one prince to another,” Thor whispered, “Be wary of your tongue. It can be an easy tool to earn its yielder a quick and unexpected death, young prince.”
Namor’s cheeks redden but he kept his mouth shut. While he was certain that he could defeat the Aesir, he was still recovering from his bout with the vampires. He didn’t want to pull a muscle, after all. At least, that was what he told himself. Thor stepped back, allowing the prince to look at Thor’s companions once more.
“I have no interest in this. If you wish to fight the ape, do so. I will not intervene. My people have greater concerns.” Namor stated as he picked up his sceptre.
“Your ancestors caused this.” The redheaded one spoke, “Caused me. They ruined my life.” She spat, “You owe me and everyone that was turned.”
“I owe you nothing. I did not create the beast.”
“We’re going in circles.” The blonde man sighed, “Look, I understand that you want to distance yourself from this. It’s not a great legacy. But if you’re a prince, I know that you must care about your people. What if not doing anything today hurts them in the future? He was able to wipe out the sorcerers. Doesn’t that worry you?” Namor was silent, “He’s growing an army. I don’t know how many your people have or how strong you are, but I’d bet that you’d find an army of vampires tough. Please, help us. You can be the prince that closed the book on-”
“I will decide how I forge my rule.” Namor stated darkly before turning back to the gateway, “I will take my leave. I would not advise coming to the gate again, or I shall have to kill you.” He paused, turned and grinned at the green one, “You may come any time, my dear. That round rump is always welcome.”
Her lips gaped slightly, not knowing what to say to someone so shameless and unaware of themselves. The prince slammed his sceptre into the rock before disappearing into the watery wall. As soon as he vanished, the water shook and spurted out, each trail filling one of the brass bowls.
“What a prick.” Jackie shook her head, staring at the empty pillars, “I mean…fuck me.”
“He would probably like that.” Jennifer grumbled as she did her best to forget the extremely uncomfortable events that happened only a few seconds ago.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked her in a gentle voice.
He was almost as lost for words as she was. As far as members of royalty went, Namor certainly took the cake for the most bizarre and arrogant one that Steve had ever imagined. The lack of foresight and care was also shocking for the driven and convicted man. The world was being picked off piece by piece by magical, ancient ape with a fixation on Atlantis, the same culture as the prince. Steve was suddenly very grateful that he never had to fight under the man. It would no doubt be headache for his advisors. That was if they weren’t as entitled as he clearly was. The brashness of the man…
“Yeah, I’m used to it. Well, actually no. Not many guys in college were…I don’t think I’ve ever had someone so confident in getting me into their bed. Not even Tony.”
While men had certain hit on her, she thankfully wasn’t deemed pretty enough in college for some of the drunker guys to hit on her overly crudely. The worst that she got was a rather blunt comment about how well her breasts looked at a Halloween party. Namor was something else. An arrogant, entitled, idiotic dick. He probably was horrible in bed, anyway.
“The demon’s creators have deep shame of him.” Thor murmured as he stroked his beard.
“He’s a coward.” Jennifer snorted, “He just doesn’t want to fight Varnae.”
“No.” Thor said lightly, “He does not want to be another of kin that failed to deal with the demon. He will pretend like it is a forgotten matter for his people until the demon is at his gates.”
“That won’t take long. If he’s as powerful as Strange says he is, sooner or later, he’ll find Atlantis.”
“It’s just a question of if we’re dead by then or not.” Jennifer sighed, “So, Atlantis is a thing. Great. I look forward to seeing Olympus next summer.”
“Why would Varnae even want to live under the sea?” Steve asked himself.
“Unless if he doesn’t know that’s where they now live?” Jackie suggested.
The group grew silent, each pondering on the many possibilities that the survival of Atlantis could bring. Sadly, it appeared to each of them that it would be of no great aid to them, at least, not in the immediate future.
“If Atlantis isn’t the…help that we hoped, what now?” Asked Jennifer.
Steve sighed before pulling out a conch from his jacket. It had been a long, disappointing day marked at the end by an egotistical man-child. The sad thing was that Steve understood some of his points. He didn’t want his kingdom involved in something that could threaten them, and for that, he couldn’t be entirely blamed. It was just a shame that the reasonable side of the prince was overcome by his…personality.
“We should regroup with Strange. Maybe he can find a way to communicate with him again. First vampires, then gods, sorcerers and now Atlantis is real. I miss when I used to just fight Nazis.” Steve chuckled, “Hey, Jackie. C’mon.”
The redhead was standing over one of the bodies. She hesitated but eventually dropped to her knees, reaching into the sand. Steve and Thor strolled over to her, curious as she showed a journal and a piece of parchment to the pair. She inspected the parchment, hummed and then gave it to the Aesir. There was a single symbol on it, one that neither of the men recognised.
“What’s this? It looks like an echidna bred with a fish.”
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so much for reading this far in!
I hope you enjoyed Namor, who is one of my favourite (redeemable) arseholes in the comics. He’s just…so smug, it’s great. Next chapter will show Varnae’s reaction to the death of one of his children, as well as kick off the revelations about why Thor is on Earth and why Strange is the last sorcerer alive. As well as some more team stuff, hope you enjoy!
I hope you're enjoying this story, and if you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. They make my week, and the fact so many of you comment each chapter pretty freaking awesome. So, thanks, really. Otherwise, I hope everyone has a great weekend!
Also: I’m thinking up a sequel (if you guys want it?), and if anyone had any avengers or villains, characters that they would like to appear (or even just ideas or concepts), feel free to message or comment. I have a fair idea of themes I want to follow for the next one, but always very happy to accommodate what people want. Plus, I really like obscure characters (like Varnae), so if you have any that you’d like to see in the sequel, let me know.
Fact of the chapter: A single cow will generate 200, 000 glasses of milk in its life. The average US cow makes 22.5 quarts of milk per day. As an Australian, I have no idea what the fuck that even means, so someone feel free to translate that for me…
Chapter 11: A Sleepless Night
Chapter Text
Since the days of Lebanon, the various tenets of the Sanctum Santorum had developed a routine of sorts. The news of Atlantis’ survival and the existence of Prince Namor was of great interest to Strange. The sorcerer had never imagined of such a well concealed secret, especially from the order of sorcerers who prided themselves on hunting the mysteries of the universe. It was not the only topic of great interest to him, either. Never before would he have imagined that one of the ten could be killed, yet this Namor seemed to have succeeded without any marks to tell of the event. It gave the sorcerer a small level of cautious hope.
Less time was dedicated to hiding, as a result. The other guests of the magical abode began to find it relatively easy to locate the man, for he was often only in one of two places. Days were spent with Janet, testing variation after variation of the Pym Particle. Evenings were spent deep within the several libraries of the moving building. His beady eyes were scrunched as he leaned over scroll after scroll, starved to find the nature of the symbol that Jackie had found. If Varnae was so determined to find it, the relic was clearly possessed a function great enough that it was worth raising a small army to find. Nothing good could possibly come of it.
Janet’s time was still focussed on her research. Whilst her days were spent testing the variations with Strange, her restless and claustrophobic nights were spent on her floor, surrounded by hundreds of notes. Each listed the properties of countless formulas, each in turn marked with dozens of comments or were scratched out. Her room was less like a bedroom, instead having the appearance of a bird’s nest. Her faith was not immortal. Each failed test was taking a toll on the small woman, evident in her dark eyes, blotchy skin and the constant struggle to focus against her insomnia. Her husband’s work was not for nothing, and neither was hers. She simply knew it. Janet had pressed him into the mess that he was in, and she would fix it. Janet had to. For that reason, the ever awake woman spent her evenings curled in the middle of her floor, surrounded by the papers that held the thoughts which forced her awake.
Peter’s sleeping habits were just as poor. Between the anxiety of being attacked by vampires at any moment and the fear for his aunt, Peter could not rest as he laid upon his bed. His body ached each day from the gruelling training that Steve was offering him, and even his healing capabilities were struggling to handle the softer blows from the super soldier. Yet, as exhausted as he was, sleep offered him no refuge. His restlessness was not sated by many other guests, either. Thor and Strange were busy with magical issues that Peter knew nothing about. Hank was in no state for offering a stable conversation, despite welcoming any visit from the teenager. The scientist’s body was on the end of his withdrawals. The scientist’s cheeks were fuller, and his skin a shade brighter than the sickly pale that he used to be. Peter still found it hard to see him, however. He was still a long passage away from the confident and warm man that Peter had fought beside only several weeks prior. Jackie often hid, having mood swings about needing blood to survive due to her newfound existence. Jennifer, while kind and social, was clearly busy trying to locate one of the remaining High Vampires with her notes, or attempting to prolong how long she justify working from home to her employer. Only Tony was suited for a talk in the long hours of the night.
The inventor was often silent as he worked on his suit. Every so often, as he pulled open a compartment to replace the wires or circuits, he would explain to Peter how the system worked. On two occasions, he even allowed Peter to work on the coiling within the Repulsor on his gauntlet. Much of it was spoken with dry, mumbled words. Tony couldn’t manage much more than that. It was clear that Tony was sleeping as much as Peter was. His eyes were darkened and there seemed to be a constant sheen of sweat to him as he wielded or screwed the outer plating of the left arm together. His mind was struggling to keep up with his desire to work, days without sleep throwing ropes around his concentration and pulling it to the ground. Still, he worked. He had to. The suit would save lives. Through the suit, he would save lives. The pair soon found a way to work in silence, both enjoying the fact that they simply had someone to spend the still nights with.
Thus was the nature of the Sanctum Santorum. Each inhabitant fulfilling their business, each doing so on their own. Each doing so without so much as a blink of sleep.
“Lower ‘compound 7’ by three percent, please.” Janet whispered, not being able to speak much louder.
Strange nodded and slowly rotated his right arm. Several symbols hovering above the hand changed, leading Strange to automatically look at the three rotating bands of magic symbols circling around his left arm. No symbols changed, nor did the Cithlon. In fact, the mystical mammal sneezed as a vapor spurted around it from all possible angles. Janet sighed as she saw Strange’s apathetic expression. With a click of her tongue, yet another variation of the formula was cut from the list.
Her notebook was soon lazily tossed to the side desk, her hands cupping her stinging eyes as she groaned. Strange’s lip twitched in pity as he whipped a hand up, sending the hovering chemical above them into the sinking ceiling. With another sneeze, the Cithlon and its cubed container sunk into the group, disappearing entirely. Strange stared at Janet’s taut and overwhelmed form, hastily assessing the best option for the current situation. While he was tempted to simply resume their work or to stand in silence, a growing part of him did not enjoy seeing the woman so compressed and withered. She was…pleasant, after all. With an uncomfortable feeling in his belly, the sorcerer opened his mouth. He closed it. With another attempt, he managed to speak.
“Like I said,” Strange began with a gravelly voice, “These things take time. In any field. Years, if you’re luck-”
“We don’t have fucking years.” Janet whispered from behind her hands.
“Hank is looking remarkably better. His body has almost adjusted to the removal of the serum.”
“I know.” Janet sighed, removing her hands from her face and leaning back on the desk behind her, “He remembers who he is. Mostly.”
Her husband’s symptoms had improved, but not been entirely eradicated. The man’s episodes of rage had simmered into profound bouts of a cloudy mind. Discussions were quickly interrupted with a question on why he was even in the observation cell. The events leading to the meeting of Varnae were a haze to the man, yet on other days Hank would be able to describe the robe that the ape wore. As much as the step away from breakdowns into hysterics was a promising sign, it still hurt Janet in a way that she simply couldn’t describe when he failed to remember their own wedding day. The woman had dragged her lifeless body to her room and stared at the ceiling for hours after that, not being capable of much more.
“This isn’t just about Hank.” Janet continued, her tone still drawn out and weak, “I know it’s not magic, or Thor’s hammer, or even Tony’s armour. But it’s still something that we can use against Varnae.” She bit her lip, “I used to be tempted to surrender myself to S.H.I.E.L.D. and tell them everything, but they won’t listen.” She groaned, “Even if Thor or Jackie were to come, they’d take too long to believe us.” Janet bucked her chin to the various pools of chemicals floating above them, “If we can get this working before Varnae finds whatever he’s looking for, then it’s something. Something we can help people with. Something we can use to protect them.”
Strange’s face lowered somewhat in a mild show of his pessimism. It was not missed by Janet.
“You still don’t think that we can help?” Janet’s voice was shaky, almost desperate, “Isn’t that why you became a sorcerer in the first place, to help people?”
Strange’s face gained a darker shade and his eyes seemed to sink into their sockets. It was an old question that had sunk into the cracks of Strange’s paranoid and morbid mind many years earlier. Uncomfortable memories surfaced, yet for some reason there was no hesitation or filtering when he spoke to the woman beside him. It was almost…easing to speak, like releasing of pressure.
“Not entirely.” Strange admitted in a quiet voice, his eyes focussed on the liquids above, “I…After my hands were ruined, I had nothing, Janet. Nothing. I wasted my money on surgeries that went nowhere, and my less than loyal friends turned their backs on me.” His tone shifted into bitterness, “I was…”
Strange’s breathing hitched. Janet shifted uncomfortably, noticing just how pale the man had become. His usually trembling fingers were almost shaking as he tried to find the right words for his dry lips. His eyes were wide and hollow, as if he were staring into the abyss itself.
“A sorcerer found me on a bridge. I wanted…” With his eyes closed and a tortured breath, he managed to continue, “I didn’t have many options. I didn’t have any. But she found me. Victoria. She took me here, to meet the Sorcerer Supreme. Everyone else wanted to wipe my mind and toss me to the street, but not the Sorcerer Supreme. He…” Strange’s face scrunched up as if he were in great pain, so much so that Janet almost reached out to him, “He said beneath all of my arrogance and loathing, my heart was there. It just needed to be found.”
Strange’s voice drifted off, and the man was unable to speak further. It was too painful a memory to continue, one that felt bitter and hollow with the gift of hindsight. Strange felt both relieved and highly vulnerable in the moments that followed his words. The tingling in his back was reminiscent of the feeling that he would gain when attacked. His defensive paranoia flared as quickly as it disappeared. All it took was an amused snort to bring him back to the room that he was standing in.
“Sounds like most men, really.” Janet smiled in a tired manner, “You just need to work on yourself a little before you’re bearable.”
Strange let out a breathless, weak laugh for a moment or two. Janet’s smile remained, and the two stood in a lessened way, enjoying the brief distraction from the hellish situation around them. Eventually, a thought that Strange had been lingering on for several days was brought to his lips.
“Do you…Do you think it’s wise for Hank to be involved in this, given his previous exposure to the faulty formula?” Strange asked carefully.
“Who said it’d be Hank that uses it?” Janet murmured, more to herself than Strange.
There was a long second as the pair processed the meaning behind Janet’s words.
“I got us into this, I’ll get us out.”
Strange nodded in a level of understanding that was almost unsettling for him to feel. He didn’t ask any questions, for he didn’t need to. Janet opened a book and felt it was only fair that she closed it. A perfectly human response, one that snuck and crawled along the noisy forest bed of Strange’s own mind. Before he could reflect on his own need for closure, the sorcerer forced himself to clear his throat and press on. He had travelled through his thoughts enough for the day.
“In that case, what’s the next variation?”
One by one, the pair continued their research. Every once in a while, they would have a guest. Jennifer eagerly showed the pair several polaroids that she had taken in Lebanon, pug snoozing in her arm. Peter would enter only to leave once he realised both were too busy to answer the countless questions that he had. Jackie entered once, asking for where Strange’s stash of blood packs were being kept. Neither of the pair took too much notice of anyone, and soon they all blurred into the background. Hour by hour, they stared at the orbs of liquid above them as they merged, glowed and were sprayed on a Cithlon. Notes were made, lines were scratched into paper, and loud, defeated sighs left the pair after each and every failure.
“Maybe it’s…Maybe it’s best that we get some food.” Janet whispered, her hand cupping her throbbing eyes once more before even bothering to see the result of the current variant.
Food was something that Janet was forcing herself to remember to need to have. Amongst the endless waves of paper and ink, it was so simple and easy to forget to need to address the discomfort in her stomach. A discomfort that paled to the cutting pressure in her head that she now felt almost every waking hour.
Hearing no comment from Strange, Janet sighed and glanced at him with mild irritation. His eyes were focussed on the three rings of magical runes dancing around his left arm. They were wide, frantic eyes that inspected each and every symbol. Janet frowned and turned to the front of them. Her eyes widened as widely as Strange’s. The Cithlon was gone. Before them was a mere empty room. A thundering heart grew in Janet’s chest as an energy that she had not felt in days surged through her.
“Stephen…”
“The atomic structure’s stable. No signs of immediate reversion, or any reversion, for that matter. No chemical imbalances in the brain, nor signs of neural impact. Janet,” Strange’s voice was breathy and thick, “The variation works. It’s stable without cognitive alteration.”
Janet’s eyes were wet. Without knowing it, she was stepping backwards into the desk with legs that she could no longer feel. Her entire body shivered before breaking into blatant shaking. The serum worked. A viable alternative to the one that she and her husband had gotten so wrong. A serum that that could help her husband’s mind and remove any sense of failure from either of them. Weeks and weeks of pain, resolved. Decades after decades of Hank’s research, bared fruit. It was overwhelming. Janet’s chest tightened, forcing all air out of her lungs as she collapsed onto her rear. Her cheeks were damp as she held off the choked sob in a poor way. It had worked. She could help Hank.
Strange was hastily counting silently and mouthing to himself with his eyes shut. His hands waved all over the place, bringing dozen or so liquids into being. He merged several of them together and spray the mixture into the glowing cube in front of him. Nothing. One by one, he frantically formed several solutions that were swiftly poured into the cube. Eventually, there was a panicked wail as a Cithlon burst into the air. The poor creature was breathing heavily, desperate to gain any air that it could. Strange laughed. The man actually laughed as he stepped back and waved his hand in front of the last set of symbols that he had case. They stood next to the runes that had shrunk the Cithlon and, with a flick of Strange’s finger, both sets turned into a chemical formula that Janet could understand. Formulas for the Pym Particle and its counter serum. Decades of her husband’s work, right before her eyes.
The woman pushed herself up, almost falling over twice. Before Strange could turn, he felt her arms around him and her face burying itself into his arm.
“Thank you.” She sobbed quietly, “Thank you.”
Strange was very still, not knowing how to react. He had heard it many times from patients, but even then, he had no understanding of proper protocol. It felt uncomfortable, unwarranted, undeserved. The sorcerer felt guilt clutch at his mind, digging in to rip away any pride or sense of triumph. The sorcerer swallowed, managing just enough to pat Janet’s arm as she sobbed in relief and joy.
***
Hannibal had been in existence for over two thousand years. He was clever, ambitious and possessed a remarkable talent to overcoming even the hardest of obstacles or strictest of rules. It was what drew Varnae’s attention to him when he had first journeyed to the northern reaches of Africa. It was what drew the ape to offering the human immortality. Immortality. A false term. One that had never felt so hollow as it did for Varnae as he stared at the lifeless body concealed by a decorative sheet.
The hall of the manor was silent, for no one dared utter any word. The remaining children of Varnae were circled around the two bodies resting on the floor. Their eyes were narrow, and mouths tightly sealed, not trusting any words that could come out, not as they stared upon their dead brother and his advisor. A powerful advisor that the nine, had come to respect. Behind them, several dozen associates and servants were gathered, all wearing black and covered in traditional garments of mourning that spanned centuries and countless landmasses. Hannibal was dead.
One of the few vampires from Hannibal’s corner and time of the world stood between the two bodies, speaking in a long dead language. Varnae paid little attention to his prayers. His son was dead. What else was there to think about? A noble, strong son that had been left in a ditch in Lebanon. The shameful humans and the Aesir lacked any honour to even bury the High Vampire. No, he was found at the bottom of a mountain, surrounded by a dozen of his men. Men with the scent of the Aesir and a vampire that Varnae had created months ago, wounds from a sharpened object and a head ripped from shoulders. A son of Varnae found in a ditch. The ape risked no emotion or sign of weakness on his wide face, yet his heart was heavy and poisoned. Much to his relief, the service ceased, and the dark-skinned vampire stroked the clothed face of Hannibal one last time.
Deacon Frost exhaled loudly and was the first to leave the hall. He offered no bowing or words to his fallen sibling, preferring to continue his stride. Without much surprise, Varnae noticed that the younger vampire was walking towards his room. Jia was next, bowing to her deceased brother, before also walking towards Varnae’s office. John was next, and then Brand, Bayarmaa, Raizo, Marcus, Adinah, and Phaidra. Many of the lesser vampires and Varnae’s newer creations bowed and whispered their words of support and grief. Varnae inclined his head respectfully. As he passed the officiant of the ceremony, the mighty Gigantopithecus held his shoulder for a second. The vampire stiffened, only to hear Varnae make a soft, almost pitiful sound as he walked with his knuckles towards his room.
His children were silent, but easy to read. Pain and rage bled into their veins. Even as they sat on various seats and couches like statues, their eyes were manic and severe as Varnae entered. He did not feel any judgement or ill will towards them, knowing the horrors that loss can do to a person. His entire civilisation fading was a pain that almost broke the magical being, yet losing a son was such a sharp and sour feeling that it was almost worse.
“I know…you’re angry.” Varnae murmured, “Rage will not return him. We must plan…well.”
He finished with several oow’s. Phaedra, the Dorian woman, was not soothed by his words. She rose, ignoring Lucas’ attempt to grab her hand.
“These humans did this. All because we attempted to kill them.” Her words were given with spittle as the grieving woman barely controlled herself, “We should never have tested them. These aren’t mutants or enhanced humans, they’re demons.”
“They would come after us as soon as they discovered our plans.” Deacon stated coldly, “Striking them first was-”
“They were never going to find out.” Phaedra snapped, “Do you not understand that?! They were never going to know about any of this until you and you,” Her finger snapped towards Lucas, “Sent men after them. Men that were all killed.”
“You think our brother’s death is on me?” Deacon’s voice was calm yet as unnerving as a flash of lightning, “Be careful with the words you speak, sister, becu-”
“You will what?” Raizo barked in a voice louder than anyone had ever heard from him, “Kill her, too? You can barely manage to kill a soldier from World War Two or some creature that swings from webs. Excuse my lack of faith in your abilities, Deacon.”
Deacon’s eye twitched as he looked from one to the other. His attention soon turned towards the ape that was resting at the end of the room.
“If I…If I had been allowed to hunt them in force like I asked, they would be dead by now. A dozen dead at a time. Well done, humans. My army? They would have broken them within a minute.”
Varnae let out a sound from deep within his throat. While several of his children braced themselves, Deacon did not. He remained standing, looking defiantly at his creator.
“There did not need to be mindless blood. We are here to rule, not conquer. You,” A leathery finger rose towards a suddenly nervous Deacon, “aggravated them. Conflict rose from you.”
“I wanted to protect us. All of us!” Deacon cried, “You let an enemy grow and kill one of us.”
“You let them become an enemy.”
“They already were.” Lucas stated carefully, “From the moment they saw you at the docks, they were an enemy. They clearly knew about the abductions. We shouldn’t have taken risks. If…If they’re capable of killing one of us, we need to kill them now.”
“They’re in mass at the sorcerer’s palace.” Mentioned Jia.
“So?” Deacon laughed, “All of us, right now, we go there. Family fun time, eh?” He grinned wickedly, “We’ll paint their walls with blood in the name of Hannibal. We’ll avenge him!”
“It will not bring him back.” Varnae sighed mournfully.
Deacon looked a mix of disgusted and outraged. He was not alone. Lucas, John and Bayarmaa did not view their creator’s last comment favourably. The atmosphere of the room tightened quite uncomfortably.
“No.” Deacon agreed with a single nod, “But it will make us strong again. It’ll honour our brother. It’ll…It’ll…It’ll be something!”
Deacon’s scream was met him hurling a chair into the wall. A wall that groaned as it was puncture by leather and steel. Varnae eyed the ruined wall for a moment before sliding his small eyes back to shaking and forlorn Deacon.
“You are upset. As am I. He was my son. I loved him, as I love you, Deacon. I will not kill these creatures for him,” Deacon’s eyes sharpened, but Varnae continued, “We will have the world for him. If they are capable of killing you, that is more reason to focus on our task.”
“A task that you refuse to tell us about.” Phaedra muttered.
“I, too, would have more confidence if I knew what Hannibal died for.” Raizo added in a diplomatic tone.
Varnae eyed each of his gathered children closely, seeing the distrust and apprehension within each of their eyes. He made a noise deep within his throat. It was not the right time. They were too emotional, and his distrust of certain members of his children had not faded. If anything, his concern for their erratic tendencies and lack of foresight had grown in recent days. He could not risk one of them using it own their own, but it was clear that a total lack of answers would only exasperate problems. Perhaps…Perhaps a tweak of the truth was not unwise. Something close enough to the truth that it would not alienate them when he did reveal all. It would be something, something that could buffer Varnae from any confrontations until he found the artefact.
“It controls energy.” Varnae oow’d several times, “Changes its nature. Increases or decreases it. A conduit, on a scale beyond humanity’s current understanding. The engineering still dominates anything that the Atlanteans made. No weapons would mean anything to us. Bombs would be shells. Power planets would fade. Cities would be lifeless.”
Several of the High Vampires exchanged curious looks. Even Deacon looked unsure of how to take the news. Much to Varnae’s relief, it seemed to mellow him somewhat as he considered the technology. John Falsworth hummed almost innocently before turning to look at Varnae.
“If…it can increase or decrease the reaction of atoms and substances, which is how I guess this thing works, what’s to stop someone pointing to the sun?”
“Nothing.” Varnae replied immediately.
The others shifted slightly, doing their best to not look too concerned about finding a weapon with the possible ability to cool down or expand the radiation of the sun. Varnae felt his stress ease slightly as he heard faint murmurs amongst his children. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The concept of the technology was the same, it was just…what is did was different than what Varnae just described. It mattered little. The relic would be found, and the sacrifices and lies would be worth it. Hannibal’s death would not be vain.
“And how in the hells does that let us control the world?” John asked.
“Humans will come to us for power and energy. They will welcome our order and control. They will fall without it.”
“Or they’ll fight to the last man to regain their own.” Phaedra countered with a raised brow.
“How?” Varnae queried, “With what weapons or tools, dear Phaedra? They have no dominion over they own technology when we find the artefact.”
“There’s always bullets.” Lucas muttered.
“When have they ever been an issue?” Bayarmaa grinned and several others smiled softly.
Many questions about the artefact were asked, and many false answers were given. Each lie was spoken with heavy lips, as Varnae did his best to ignore the shame of his actions. It would be worth it in the end, and they would understand so. One by one, each seemed satisfied with the power of the artefact and the clearer purpose to their struggles. Deacon was the only one that remained silent, his eyes never leaving Varnae. As the gathered vampires rose, the young faced man stared blankly at his creator. Varnae said nothing. His heart was too heavy for a fight with his own creation.
“Resume hunting.” Varnae instructed and several of his children nodded, “Gather me when it is found. We will honour Hannibal and build a world in his name.”
With a polite bow, each left the room. Deacon was the last to leave. His blank eyes were still scanning Varnae’s face. After a moment of silence, the curly haired man turned and left without any words or sign of respect. Varnae grunted in response, but was content to be in solitude once more.
It had been a torturous day. One that made the ape sit and lean against a wall as he stared at the polished panels of wood at his floor. The lies would be worth it and, hopefully, they need only last a few more days. The teachings of Atlantis would return and there would be peace and unity. Culture, true culture, would return. No longer would Varnae be alone. No longer would the ape be so foreign to the world that he was born on. No longer would he continue to lose everything he cared for around him. It would be as it used to. It would be good.
***
It was past three in the morning when Peter began his stroll through the Sanctum. His day had been the same. Training, school, training. The only difference was a mild argument with Strange and Steve over going to the observatory with his friends. Apparently, school was crowded enough but a damn observatory was ‘too easy’ to kidnap Peter from. It had set the teen into a fouler mood, one already set by his increasing lack of rest. Jen, Steve and the others could go to Lebanon, but the observatory was out of the question. It was stupid. The logical part of Peter’s mind that actually agreed with the situation was simply too tired to put up a decent fight against the emotional, brooding mindset that Peter was forming. A mindset already festering as the teen tossed and turned amongst his sheets. Eventually, the poor boy gave up on sleep.
So, he walked. There wasn’t much of a difference within the Sanctum from day to night. The green flames still decorated the walls, and the dark paint made each corridor seem endless. The red and gold carpets felt harsh under his toes, making him wonder just how old they were. Many of the doors were sealed but, much to Peter’s relief, they seemed to stop changing. Corridors stayed in place and whenever Peter retraced his steps, he was no longer finding himself in a completely different area. Perhaps, the Sanctum was beginning to like him. Aunt May would simply have a fit at the idea of a changing house. The thought of his only relative made Peter shake his heavy head. She was safe, from what Strange had said. She was under a new belief that she was staying with her friend until her water system was fixed, and that Peter was staying with one of his friends. He missed her, as much as it annoyed him to admit it. Outside of school, she was practically the only constant in his life and, given the strangeness of recent weeks, he was beginning to long for something familiar.
Such thoughts distracted the teen as he found himself down an unfamiliar passageway. One lined with golden markings on the walls that led to a door. A door with a silver and engraving handle. Peter felt a very strange desire to enter the rooms. The markings shone like the sun in the glow of the torches, captivating his eyes. Peter looked around, half expecting Strange to be behind him. Had the teen slept enough to have some common sense, he would have second guessed entering such a bizarrely decorated room in a magical house. He had not slept. Instead, he turned to see the door at least two metres closer. Another sign that the teen ignored as he turned the handle. The room that met his eyes made him blink several times.
It was a large but very crowded room, so much so that it was difficult to see any of the walls. Those that be could see were lined with many glass cabinets, each revealing strange artefacts and objects that Peter struggled to describe. The middle of the room was decorated with many drawers, each guarded with octopus shaped locks. Within the cabinets were many objects that Peter knew to be beyond anything that he had seen. Some were weapons, others were old and bitten books. There were simply rocks that seemed to hiss as Peter passed them, and a hovering set of shackles violently shook as soon as the teen was near. Peter quickly avoided that particular case as soon as he imagined the sound of muffled screaming coming from the shackles. A hovering eye that was the size of a small horse stared at him intensely, making Peter quickly turn his head away out of fright.
Ta. Ta.
Peter’s neck tightened immediately. With a perfect spin that Steve would have been proud of, Peter eyed the nearest cabinet with a fist raised. There was a red cape. No, a cloak. The thick fabric shone in the light of the nearby torches and the golden decorations of where the front shoulders of the cloak would meet were very beautiful. The flared collar bared many patterns and designs, waved and curled as they met one another. As Peter stepped closer to examine it, he stilled himself very quickly. For as he had moved, so had the cloak. After a moment of catching his breath, the teen stepped to the left. The cloak floated to the far left of its cabinet. Peter moved to the right, watching as he was followed there, as well. Curiously, he raised his hand to wave at the piece of clothing. His eyes widened as the bottom of the cloak lifted up to immediate a handless wave.
“You…are freaking awesome.” Peter whispered.
The cloak’s collar fluttered at the compliment. Peter stepped forward, keen to examine the cloak as close as he could, when the sounds of fire made his neck tighten. His head snapped to the very end of the mysterious room and his feet carried him there without his commands. It was large basin of green flames. A bowl of fire that enthralled Peter and removed any sense of tiredness from his aching body. It looked beautiful and warm to his aching eyes and throbbing head. Peter needed to be near it. He just needed to feel a bit more of its warmth.
Ta! Ta! Ta!
Peter turned. The cloak was hastily knocking on its glass cabinet. Before Peter could ask what was the matter, the sounds of flames roared again. As soon as his eyes met the emerald tongues, his attention could not be given elsewhere. The room seemed to fade from memory and sight as the burning cauldron latched onto Peter’s eyes. His breathing slowed, almost a forgotten thought as he tried to understand what was in front of him. Faces. Whispers. It was both terrifying and beautiful. The strokes of fire seemed to bend and shift colours to form the vaguest of images. The hues and textures swirled and cracked until Peter could understand a shape. Jennifer.
Peter’s mouth curled and, with a deep frown of concern, he stepped even closer. He could not hear the frantic tapping of glassing. It was a world away. Jennifer was there. She was smiling with a beautiful smile. Peter’s cheeks ripened as he watched her. She was by some water, perhaps a lake, and very happy. A sudden desire to see more made Peter lean in, his nose almost touching the fire. She was with someone. They were sitting side by side on a log. Peter. It was Peter. The teen’s heart pounded in his ears. What was Jennifer doing with Peter? They had never been to a lake before. Perhaps, Jennifer liked lakes? Curiosity melted into joy and excitement as the teen watched the pair wreathed in flames gently lean in, their foreheads touching as…
“Peter!”
The brightness of the room around him hit the teen with such force that he leapt back, breathing heavily. Before he could turn around, he was pushed to the side. Strange muttered a spell as he waved his hand over the cauldron, banishing the flames. The teen was shaking, his senses returned in full. It was overwhelming and made him sick to the stomach. He needed to vomit.
“What the hell are you doing in here?!” Strange barked, his nose flared in a snarl.
Peter’s lip quivered slightly, honestly not knowing what to say. Without words, he merely pointed to the odd doorway that had invited him in. Strange sighed and seemingly glared at the walls around them.
“This place…finds humour in playing with those within. Be more careful.” Strange’s tone softened, “This isn’t a safe room, Pete. The Reliquary is more of a vault. The things in here…”
“What…What is that?” Peter asked, pointing back to the cauldron.
Strange’s expression darkened once more as he looked at the artefact with utter loathing.
“The Cauldron of the Cosmos.” He spat bitterly, “It’s the most dangerous thing in here. It…It shows you possible futures.”
Peter’s heartbeat picked up again. There was an actual chance that Jennifer was interested in him. Someone cool, nerdy and stunning was actually interested in him. Well, at least, would be interested in him. As Peter’s hormonal mind went abuzz, Strange continued.
“Before you get too excited,” Strange seethed, his eyes still on the cauldron, “It’s a cruel device. It feeds on your dreams, your fears, your most haunted memories. For every chance that it shows you the accurate future, there’s the chance it’s an utter lie. A lie that births a mad desire to make it reality.” Strange’s voice dropped, “And that never ends well.”
Peter stepped next to him and looked to see the miserable expression hanging onto the sorcerer. His eyes were lowered, and his entire body was hunched once more. He could have easily been mistaken for a crow of sorts. Thinking quickly, Peter lightly nudged Strange and turned towards the hovering cloak.
“And that?”
“Oh.” Strange chuckled softly, “The Cloak of Levitation. A nuisance, really. It likes to befriend…It liked to befriend the younger students and make sure they were safe. It also encouraged them to steal and play pranks on the sorcerers. Hence,” Strange sighed as he stepped near the cloak’s cabinet, “It was put here to learn discipline.”
As Strange spoke, the clearly indigent cape slapped at the glass. Strange rolled his eyes.
“Seems lonely.” Peter frowned.
“Yeah.” Strange murmured, “A common trait with the relics here. Come. I don’t want to sense you here again. Okay?”
Peter nodded, leading to Strange gesturing to the door. As they passed, the Cloak of Levitation waved once more, and Peter felt a pang of guilt that the intelligent object was left behind. Surely it wasn’t that much of nightmare for the sorcerers that it deserved imprisonment.
“Do you need something to sleep?”
Peter turned, seeing Strange looking at him expectantly from the doorway.
“Ah, no. Just…nightmares.”
“Right.” Strange was less than convinced, “Well, goodnight, Peter.”
“Night.”
“Remember. No wondering into this room.”
Peter was very aware that Strange was watching him as he made his way down the corridor. Trust clearly didn’t dwell deep within the man. As he turned towards the general direction of his room, his mind hastily returned to the Cauldron. It was clearly a trick. A lie. Strange even admitted it. Jennifer was older and Peter was…Peter. Just like with all of the other girls in his life, she wouldn’t be interested. She was a lawyer, had an apartment, had her life sorted, was insanely attractive in both forms, and was just a decent, honest person. The very type of person that was out of his league. Yet, Peter could not maintain that line of logic for long. As he moved past door after door, the image in the flames seemed all the more appealing. Strange had also stated that it could show the truth. There was a chance. They had a lot in common, and Peter had liked to think that they got on extremely well. In fact, he probably got on the best with Jennifer out of everyone in the house. It wasn’t…insane to think that she would or could be interested. It was, after all, a possibility.
Such thoughts clung to Peter’s mind as he neared his room. As he walked through the corridor, he was aware that one of the doors was opened. He thought that he was the only one in the entire corridor. His eyes squinted at the walls and ceiling, quickly remembering Strange’s remark about how the Sanctum gained its amusement. Tentatively, he stepped into the doorway, his exhausted body tensed and ready.
It was messy. Papers and photos were lining the walls with many pins in each. It was a small bedroom, just like Peter’s. Unlike Peter’s, there was also a small set of cushions and stuffed, chewed toys at the side of the bed. The floor held several stacks of files and folders, along with a woman whose tongue was stuck out as she carefully pasted something into a book. Peter cleared his throat softly, making Jennifer jump. Perhaps, the house had seen what the flames showed. Why else would Jennifer suddenly be in his corridor? Ignoring any reasonable answers to the question, Peter nodded towards the book in front of her.
“When…What are you doing awake?” Jennifer whispered with a look of concern.
“Can’t sleep. You?”
“Can’t sleep. Only one of us can.” She snorted and leaned back.
Maxxie was snoozing in her lap, answering Peter’s question on why she was learning forwards in such a craned way.
“What are you doing down here? I thought you slept on the other floor?” Jennifer asked curiously.
In response, Peter simply leaned back and pointed to a door down the hallway with “P” singed into the wood.
“I don’t like this house.” Jennifer whispered.
As she did so, the sound of wood groaning made the both of them jump. Peter hastily massaged the door frame and grinned as wildly as he could.
“I love this place.”
The groaning stopped, making the both of them exhale. Jennifer’s eyes were still twitching as she looked around the walls anxiously. Once again, Peter gestured to the book that she was working on.
“Memories of Lebanon.” She beamed, “Never left the country before it. Sit.”
Peter’s cheeks warmed and, as casually as he could, he sat next to her. Their knees touched briefly, making Peter’s chest tighten. Even when it was three in the morning and she was just as tired as he was, Jennifer was beautiful to him. The woman tapped to the several of the polaroids that she had already pasted into the scrapbook.
“I really liked their goats.” She admitted with a blush.
That was certainly true, if the three close ups of a goat paddock were anything to go by. Peter chuckled lightly and began listening as Jennifer listed the many photos that she had taken both before and after her run in with the vampires. If her shredded leotard that was tossed by the door meant anything, it was that it was a long fight indeed. One that Peter was still envious of.
“Then that’s the sea. Can’t really see…It was night.” Jennifer mumbled as she hastily hid the picture that was entirely black, “Took that right before some asshole casually asked for sex. Fun.” Jennifer hissed.
A mild twitch of heat travelled up Peter’s spine. The mildly gleeful fantasy of him beating up a half man, half salmon man replayed in his mind several times. He had heard about Namor from Steve. The prince sounded exactly like the type of person that got socked in the jaw the moment daddy wasn’t there to save them.
“I would’ve just punched him.” Peter yawned.
“Such a guy.” Jennifer tattered softly, “You can’t punch everything.”
“Says the girl that turns massive and green, and punches everything.” Peter grinned.
Jennifer turned red, but her smile was obvious. Carefully leaning over Maxxie, she pasted the last polaroid into the book.
“You’re a smartass.” Jennifer mumbled, trying to rein in her grin.
“It keeps things lively.”
“Well, can’t argue with that. Certainly makes your enemies want to punch you more.”
“That’s that the point.” Peter nodded, “Makes them think less if they can’t hear their own thoughts. Plus, I like talking. I don’t really have a chance to talk that much outside of my friends. Even Aunt May gets a headache.”
“I don’t.” Jennifer said absently, “At least you talk about things I like.”
Peter’s chest was pumping extremely fast once more. He was so close to her. God, he could even smell her shampoo. She liked talking to him. She had invited him in, and there had been no disasters. Perhaps…Perhaps the Cauldron wasn’t wrong. Maybe there was something to the image that the groggy and sleep deprived teen saw. Jennifer was smiling as she spoke to him, a smile that made his own join hers. The temptation soon gave way, and his mind was fixated on the possibility that the vision of fire was a reality. Maybe he wasn’t so different from other guys his age. Maybe he didn’t need to miss out on dating, or just being near a girl. Perhaps it made sense that it was Jennifer. They were both superpowered, after all.
The tenuous at best logic lingered in Peter’s mind as he walked into his room. He needed to return to the Reliquary. Perhaps, if he saw the same vision one more time, that could be confirmation. Jennifer was beautiful both inside and out, after all. Something that was worth a little and quick trip back to the Reliquary.
***
“He was so embarrassed when we found out.” Phaedra giggled, slouching deeper into the leather couch behind her, “He begged us to never tell Deacon.”
Deacon’s lip twitched from his place by the first. He sipped his blood and exhaled deeply.
“I recall you telling me the very next day.”
Jia, John, Adinah and Bayarmaa chuckled heartily. Even Lucas and Raizo managed small smiles before grinning a glass of blood to their lips. Memories of Hannibal had been shared for over an hour as the High Vampires huddled themselves in a small office of Lucas’. Varnae had long since disappeared, determined to resume the hunt himself. He was curious as to why Hannibal was in Lebanon, of all places. Several of his children honestly did not care for his disappearance. The bitter taste of recent events was all too fresh. Distance from their father was not necessarily a bad thing anymore, at least in their minds.
“He was foolish, but loyal.” Raizo murmured as he rested his head on his fist, leaning onto the side of the sofa.
“A beautiful singer, when not shy.” Jia added.
“He had a massive cock.” Adinah sighed, shaking her head.
There was a brief moment of concerned confusion amongst the vampires. Even Deacon frowned and gazed upon the Hebrew vampire with mild discomfort. She took little notice, her eyes lost in fonder memories of Hannibal. With a groan of discomfort, Lucas looked at several of his siblings.
“How much longer will we do this?”
“For as long as our creator demands.” Raizo warned, but his Celtic brother turned to give him a quizzical look.
“You’re the most interested in magic out of all of us. You’ve meddled with…five Sorcerer Supremes in your time? Since when has a single force been able to kill one of us?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Raizo’s mouth formed a thin line, but was unable to offer any genuine counter. Lucas nodded and continued, glass of blood in hand.
“We used to play with the humans. They were a mild nuisance, at worst.” Lucas nodded to the Deacon, “That dark skinned half-breed with the sword. How close has he ever come to killing you?”
“Lucas.” Raizo warned again, his tone lower.
“He has a point.” Deacon muttered bitterly, “We used to be untouchable. Now Hannibal is dead. Which one of us is next?”
“Have either of you actually given thought on who could have killed him?” Adinah asked as she traced her glass with the tip of her finger, “No one? Think on it. A god that, by all accounts, can barely cast lightning. A superhuman, but still human. A teenager that has been overpowered several times. A sorcerer that does not seem to leave his hiding hole for more than four minutes a week. A green demoness that has also been overwhelmed in numbers. And a shrinking person with a High Vampire traitor.” Adinah eyed each of the gathered vampires, “So, which one could kill Hannibal and Nasan?”
The room was silent as each of the occupants thought of the question. None of them had actually given it much thought. In fact, the scent that was found only belonged to three or four of them, not even all. How was it that Hannibal, with over two millennia of experience surviving, got caught and killed by a group of them? It made no sense. Hannibal had thought off far more terrible threats before. Smug that her point was sinking in, Adinah snuck back into the sofa and sipped her blood.
“It doesn’t matter.” Deacon cleared his throat, “He’s dead, and we owe it to our brother to avenge him. These…interlopers have been a problem ever since Varnae returned.”
“Which…begs the question…of what the actual problem is.” Lucas sighed, not able to meet anyone’s eyes.
“You blame our father?” Bayarmaa questioned, her voice shaking slightly.
“His return has been problematic on many levels.” John hastily answered, “I think…I think that we can all agree that this has not gone as we imagined.”
“And how did we imagine it?” Deacon hissed, “That after two thousand years of travelling the stars that he would respect our independence? That the status quo would remain untouched?”
“He annihilated our enemies.” Raizo tried.
“And created new enemies that have killed one of us.” Deacon snapped, “I know you’re sympathetic, brother, but please. Have some perspective.”
“Perspective?” Raizo titled his head, “You are implying that we turn our backs to our creator. Without him, we would have nothing. We would be nothing but dust in time.”
“Two thousand years of work, pain and history on our backs.” John grunted, “All of a sudden, we have to drop that for a quest that’s gotten one of us killed. A quest that he values more than his own creations.”
“He cares about us.” Adinah said in a gentle voice.
“Then why make hundreds more?” Lucas hissed and Deacon nodded, “We used to be ten. The only ten our breed. Now, I have to deal with…eighties kids with more power than they deserve. Within a day, I’ve been replaced a hundred times over.”
“You’re still in charge of them.” Adinah countered.
“For how long?” Lucas shook his head, “What if they challenge us? We can maybe fight a few at once, but if enough turn on us at once…”
“You’re being paranoid.” Raizo cut in.
“He’s having foresight.” Deacon stared at Raizo with a stiff expression, “Foresight like finishing these humans and the Aesir off.”
“Don’t start that again.” Phaedra moaned.
“He has a point.” Bayarmaa gave her sister an apologetic look, “If…four of us went to that building now, we could finish this.”
“Varnae’s punishment would be severe.” Phaedra tattered.
“And if the threat of punishment no longer existed?” Deacon suggested, making the room uncomfortably quiet once more.
Each ponder the scenario that no one dared speak. They had lived and ruled for centuries without Varnae. The idea of going without yet again was not terrifying. But, there was a steep canyon between living in the absence of your creator and having the all-powerful creature killed. Even if it were possible, a deep-rooted vein of emotion for the creator still existed for many of them. He was the creature that offered them immortality and showed them magic and abilities beyond their imaginations or desires. That was not something easily shaken, even after two thousand years. Two thousand years that Varnae gave them.
“We shouldn’t be too hasty with such thoughts.” Adinah murmured, keenly aware of the stressful environment that she now shared with her siblings, “Varnae is still…”
“Varnae.” Lucas finished.
It was another way of saying ‘powerful’. The ape had killed countless sorcerers in a single battle. That was not something to scoff at. Little was also known about just what Varnae had seen during his exile or what he had learnt. It would be foolish to test such dark waters. With that in mind, the gathered High Vampires sipped their blood before excusing themselves one by one. Each had much to ponder, their future being the most pressuring thought. None had the will or strength, or perhaps the coldness, to eagerly accept getting rid of their father so quickly. Eventually, Deacon and Adinah were the last left, but that soon changed. With a final sip of her blood and a murmur about finding ‘two comfort men’ to spend her grieving period ‘between’, Deacon was alone to stare at the fireplace. Two thousand years of living by the lessons of strength and wisdom that Varnae had given him. Lessons that seemed to be mocked by the very same creature that made them. Lessons that could have saved Hannibal.
Deacon exhaled deeply, leaning away from the fireplace. Mourning and weeping would not bring Hannibal back, but action would save others from joining him. Varnae needed to understand that, and if he didn’t…Deacon’s nostrils flared as he walked down the corridors of the manor. Deacon would not lose another sibling, not his empire. If Varnae would threaten that, then Deacon would address that as it came.
***
Peter’s timing had been exact. It had been several days since he had first visited the Reliquary, and opportunities to return had been slim. Yet, the teen could wait. It’s all he could do, as he spent his days following the usual routine and evenings staring up at the ceiling. Time seemed thick and slow, and the agitated Peter found himself sneaking peeks at Strange whenever he could. Much to his extreme relief, a chance came. There was something occurring with Janet’s research, something that required Strange’s medical knowledge to aid her. As soon as he saw Strange disappear into the room that Janet spent nearly all of her time in, Peter moved.
The Sanctum Santorum really did have a mind of its own. Peter’s initial plan of going up the staircase and making several turns was not needed. In fact, he only needed to make a single turn to the right before seeing a very recognisable hall with beautiful golden patterns on the walls. Peter’s lip twitched in an excited grin, and he hastily walked into the room. He did not know how long he had, or how long it would take before Strange would need before sensing him. It could be only seconds. Yet, a strange compulsion to see the fires was licking at his mind, softening it. In the days since first seeing the fires, Peter had questioned his strong fascination with the images that he saw. But, day by day, those questions seem to fade. It didn’t seem strange or concerning, but good. It was important that he saw what was within the Cauldron of Cosmos. He knew it as much as his body knew when he was about to be in danger.
“Hey.” Peter smiled, waving at the Cloak of Levitation.
The cloak waved back, dusting itself off and eagerly attempting to follow Peter behind the cabinet that it was in. The waving soon turned to panicked tapping as soon as it realised where Peter was walking. The magical glass almost shattered under the violent barges that the clothe made. Peter frowned and shook his head in amused confusion.
“What? It’s just some fire. I won’t burn myself.”
The answer offered little relief to the cloak. In fact, it seemed to agitate it even more. The cloak did its best to gather Peter’s attention, but the burst of rising flames had stolen it completely. The warmth soothed the exhausted boy’s eyes and eased his aching muscles. Almost all pains and concerns washed away, leaving only the swirling flames and the images they birthed. Peter bit his lip, his anxiety swelling as an unfamiliar image formed. It was not the lake. A pained breath that Peter didn’t know he was holding was released. Maybe Strange was right, and it was just a false future. Shame and embarrassment flooded the teen. He really was an idiot. A lanky, too quiet or too loud idiot.
With another loud exhale, Peter turned and prepared for a swift retreat to his room. The fully formed image stopped him. It was the top of a skyscraper. The faint lights of New York City shone around it. Peter, in the new attire that Janet had made him, was crawling on the windows. He watched as the flaming version of himself flipped onto the gravel of the rooftop. Peter’s eye hastily tried to see any more details, leaning in further as he did so. The Spider-Man in the flames had stopped, and it appeared as if he were talking to someone. The flaming Peter removed his mask, revealing a wide smile as he stepped forwards towards someone significantly taller than him. Peter’s heart seized, his dark and weary eyes narrowed. Jennifer. Tall and clearly green, it was Jennifer that the Peter in the flames was talking to. She was smiling, much like he was. A smile that rose even more as she reached down and gently stroked Peter’s hair. An action soon followed by the tall woman leaning down, holding Peter still as she kissed him gently.
It was the future. A whisper in the back of Peter’s mind repeated it over and over. It was the future. Two different events with the same theme. It had to be real. The Cauldron of the Cosmos couldn’t be lying. The smiling teen took no notice of the Cloak of Levitation beating at the glass as roughly as it could. He didn’t need to. It wouldn’t make sense to. The cauldron wasn’t lying. He had the confirmation that he needed. It was just a matter of…instigating things. After all, it was the future. It was a certainty, so what could be lost? Such thoughts warmed the tired and aching teen as he walked away from the Cauldron of the Cosmos, an artefact that he was already planning to visit again.
Peter was only vaguely aware of where he was walking. It was hard to keep track of his body when slept had not eased it in several days. It practically hurt his brain just trying to think about where he wanted to be or how to get there. His swollen and puffy eyes scanned along the many doors that he strolled past, unsure of how long that he was walking. It could have been a few minutes, or it could have been nearly an hour. Peter did not care. He had nothing else to do. He could try to nap, but he knew that he would only twist and turn. The very idea of sleep made him weak at the knees, yet frustration hit him just as quickly. Knowing that it would be futile to even try, Peter resumed his walking.
Door after door, room after room. The Sanctum seemed to spiral for miles without end. Strange had not found him yet. Perhaps, the sorcerer had not sensed Peter’s presence within the Reliquary. Peter doubted that Janet’s work would require that much of Strange’s attention that he would ignore Peter after sensing him. Steve and Thor were missing, as usual. Hank’s observation room seemed lost, no matter how many times Peter tried to find it. Tony’s room was nowhere to be found, either. There was just Peter, walking and walking and walking.
Eventually, with struggling and dragged legs, Peter found himself in a loungeroom of sorts. Leather, dark sofas were spread around a fireplace. In the middle stood several small tables with books, cigars and even two golden lighters. The walls were decorated with paintings of men and women that Peter did not recognise. That was especially the case with the goblin-like creature that was snarling in the painting by the window. A window in front of a brunette woman that was rummaging through several folders. Peter became still. His tired mind tried its best to work out the best plan of approach. Despite his earlier confidence and the sense of certainty given by the cauldron, Peter’s nerves hit him once again. It didn’t help that Jennifer looked so beautiful with her nose scrunched up in irritation over something in her notes. Be yourself, as Aunt May had always said. Surely, that could work. It had to. It wasn’t like the cauldron was lying. Was it…
A sudden scepticism rose, one that led to the teen wondering why on Earth was he even contemplating this. Yes, he could attempt that there was something of crush on the older woman. He’d arguably had it since they’d first met. Yet, there was a difference between a crush and actually knowing that it was mutual. What…What evidence did Peter actually have. The teen silently took a step back as a deep frown sunk into his features. A frown that eased as soon as a familiar warmth snuck into his head. It was fine. The cauldron had showed him two separate futures. Jennifer was always smiling and warm near him, also. She wasn’t…put off by him. Maybe…Maybe she did like him back. Perhaps, there was a chance.
It was that growing understanding that led to Peter clearing his throat as he shyly approached. Jennifer looked up, turning her droopy and heavy-lidded eyes to him. A smile that flooded Peter’s veins with adrenaline soon followed.
“You need to get some sleep.” She stated softly.
“I don’t look that bad, r-right?”
Jennifer blushed somewhat and chuckled nervously.
“No. Well, I think we all look as tired as each other. You should see Tony. He can’t even manage to stare at my chest anymore, he’s that tired.”
Jealousy hastily surged within the teen, and he did his best to force a laugh.
“Yeah, I think we’re all pretty wound up at the moment. Vampires can do that to you.”
Jennifer nodded knowingly. She had gotten just about as much sleep as anyone else in the house had. She was developing a small conspiracy theory that the Sanctum was trying to keep them awake, and only liked Maxxie enough to let her get some slumber. Sleep. Such a beautiful word in Jennifer’s opinion. It was the weekend. She should still be asleep until noon. Another reason to be highly angry at the blood sucking murders.
“Preaching to the choir.” Jennifer sighed, “ I can’t wait for this to be over with. I have so much napping and Million Dollar Man to catch up on.
Peter’s heartbeat spiked, and his struggling eyes narrowed. It was a perfect Segway. A good, easy link to the question, unlike anything Harry had given him. Adrenaline poured into Peter’s veins as he tried to think of the best wording. It would be fine. She was cool, and interested in the same things that he was. Nothing risked, nothing gained, and Jennifer was well worth gaining.
“Yeah,” Peter smiled, doing his best to ignore the blood flushing into his face, “Well, after this is all over…how about we…see a movie or something?”
“Oh? What on…”
Jennifer trailed off. It took her only three seconds to understand the subtext of the question, and it hit her hard. Embarrassment, guilt and pity all circled around Jennifer’s gut as she looked at the clearly anxious and shy teen. Embarrassment at the fact that someone had actually asked her out when they were sober. Guilt at the fact that it was a seventeen-year-old, of all things. Pity…Pity that it was Peter, who was by all accounts one of the nicest and most genuine people that she had ever met. Her counsellor would have been proud at how easily Jennifer was able to talk to him, and the relaxation and easement that she felt around him. Pity at the fact that had he been a few years older or she a few years younger, she honestly would have said yes.
“Pete.” She started in a low voice.
Peter closed his eyes, already knowing where this was going. It was the same tone that he had heard several times. Of course the cauldron lied. Why the hell would someone like Jennifer be interested in someone like him? She was attractive, successful and confident. Everything Peter wasn’t. God, he was a fool.
“You have…” Jennifer’s throat seized as a familiar sense of social anxiety tightened around her, “Ah, look. Um, Pete, we can’t date.”
“I get it.” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact as if his life depended on it.
“I’m too old. It’d be illegal, for starters…” Jennifer trailed off, her eyes miserably looking at the ground, “I don’t…I’m not trying to upset you. It’s…It’s not about you or how you look or-”
“I said I get it.” Peter cut in with a brisk tone, his eyes glancing at her.
Days and days of sleepiness nights mounted Peter’s mind within seconds. Embarrassment and sadness at the rejection hastily festered into self-resentment. He was strange-looking, nerdy as hell, and lived in one of the dodgiest parts of the city. Even Flash had more to offer than him. Of course she said no. He was complete idiot for thinking otherwise. Not even being super could aid him, it seemed. He couldn’t land a single girl at school, so how the hell was he meant to be worthy of Jennifer? The embarrassment and shame crushed at his lungs, making it heavy and difficult to breathe.
“Just…Have a good one and forget this, please.” Peter sighed, shaking his head as he turned.
Before she could reach out for his arm, Jennifer watched Peter storm out of the room.
Jennifer’s heart sank. had meant it when she said that she didn’t want to hurt him. Far from it, in fact. The fact still remained. He would be better without her. She was boring, anyway, and he was far too sweet for someone that struggled to talk to people or thought decorative pillows were the greatest invention since the pug. He was better than that. He was young. He would forget about it anyway. That didn’t stop Jennifer from collapsing onto the nearest seat and from putting her head in her hand. If she was lucky, this was actually a dream after days of not sleeping.
Peter did his best to ignore the crippling feeling in his gut, but that was naivety at its best. Unlike many other rejections, the most recent one stung sharply. That wasn’t surprising. Jennifer wasn’t like the other girls that he had asked out, and he had been so stupid and certain due to the cauldron. The Cauldron of the Cosmos. He was going to destroy it the first chance that he could. The fantasies of pouring water on it or throwing it off of the bridge brought him no comfort, however. His heart still heart and it was difficult to think about anything other than the memory of her answer. Over and over, the teen replayed the scene as if enjoying the pain. It was just too difficult to stop the memories from reappearing.
They were distracting. Distracting enough that Peter didn’t notice that he had entered one of the main rooms of the Sanctum, where Strange, Thor, Janet and Steve were leaning over a table. A series of maps was lying on the table, with several of them having pins in them. Each turned to see the crestfallen and clearly upset teen practically throw a chair out of his way. While Steve frowned in concern, Strange’s eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air.
“Hey, Pete. Pete! What’s wron-”
“I told you to leave the Reliq-”
Strange was cut off by a thunderous clap that shook the entire room. Peter skidded to a halt as a flash of light sent his senses into overdrive, making him fall to his nears with a shout. As he cupped his tortured ears and eyes, he was only able to see the new guest through the cracks in his fingers. Peter’s body tensed in nothing short of terror as the gigantic ape rested on its knuckles. Strange adopted similar terror, the sorcerer staggered back and even crashing into a cabinet whilst doing so. His eyes were shaking as did his lips. No magic was cast from the hands that he weakly put between Varnae and himself. Thor snarled, swiftly stepped in front of Janet whilst his eyes flashed with purple magic. Steve had a much more subdued rejection, one that was merely a gun concealed within his belt being raised at Varnae’s head.
Silence. The ape eyed Peter, pushing the air from the teen’s lung as he did so. He was glaring at him. Peter had never seen an orangutan glare at someone, and he hoped that he never would again. Soon, Varnae turned to Strange, then Janet, and then finally Thor. His eyes were nothing short of murderous. Suddenly, something tugged at the back Peter’s collar. With a scream, Peter felt himself being pulled back with incredible force. Wiped onto his feet, Peter watched as a red fabric flew in front of him, puffing itself out as widely as it could, as to hide as much of Peter from Varnae as possible. Strange’s lip twitched as he eyed the cloak, but was quickly grateful when he realised how much distance that it had given Peter from Varnae. He could no longer care any less about how it got out.
“What the fuck is goin…”
Tony trailed off as soon as he entered the room with Jennifer. As soon as he saw Varnae, the inventor stepped back, almost crashing into the woman. Within a single second, he was already regretting not bringing the complete Repulsor gauntlet that he and Peter had finished. If Jennifer had the strength to sigh, she would have. First crushing Peter’s heart, and now facing a demonic ape. Her hopes of the day being a dream had never been higher. To mark the final addition to the room, Jackie slid next to Strange, her eyes as wide as his as she looked upon the creature that turned her. The very creature that had robbed her life from her. Had she been more courageous and stupid, the redhead would have lunged for his throat. But, she couldn’t. She could only watch as he snorted in disgust at her.
A long while passed, and it was Steve that broke the silence.
“What do you want?” He asked in a perfectly calm voice, his gun still aimed at Varnae’s left eye.
The ape turned to him and released a deep oow.
“Truce.”
Strange twitched. Feeling a strange sickness overcome him, the sorcerer almost leaned on the cabinet for support as he heard such words. A truce. The creator that wiped out his entire order wanting a truce. Strange almost vomited there and then.
“Not ‘til you stop turning innocent people into your army.” Steve responded swiftly, “Not until people stop dying.”
“I turn those with no place left.” Varnae snarled, “I offer them a home. A purpose. They need to feed.”
“I had a place.” Jackie cut in, her tone wavering as Varnae looked at her, “I had a home, and I was about to study and you-”
“You had a spirit.” Varnae looked her up and down, “Too much, it seems.”
“What are your terms?” Steve asked.
“I will not attack you, nor will my children. You will have safety and distance. You will not kill anymore of my children. One…One was more than acceptable.” Varnae’s voice turned hush and raspy, as if in a great deal of inner pain.
Thor was the quickest to understand the angle that Varnae was coming from. The Aesir titled his head slightly, seeing if Varnae was attempting to lie or conceal something.
“You believe it to be us that killed the demon in…” He turned to Jennifer and then Jackie, “that region of Midgard. That is not so.”
Varnae’s small eyes narrowed, and a dangerous sound was released from the back of his throat.
“He’s not lying.” Steve added, “Prince Namor of Atlantis killed him. We found a passage, one that the vampire was looking for, as well. When we got there, Namor had already killed him and his friend. Atlantis still exists, Varnae. They know about you. From the looks of things, they hid themselves under the seas after the city sunk. We’re not lying. Atlantis is still alive.”
Varnae stared at Steve for several moments which such intensity that even Captain America, the finest soldier in history, felt terrified. The dark eyes seemed to latch onto his very soul and rip into it, desperate to see any lie from the truth. The tiny eyes move onto Thor, then Jennifer, and then Jackie. A mild hope existed in several of the group, one for Varnae to just understand what they had seen. If Varnae would believe them, that may just be enough to placate him. Unfortunately, the violent, menacing sound from the back of Varnae’s throat returned. With a horrendous glare, he spoke once more.
“Your lies mock me!” The beast roared, slammed a mighty fist into the floor and breaking several wooden panels, “You insult me. You steal my son from me. You mock my people’s death. You lack honour, Steven Rogers. You lack decency in war.”
“This doesn’t need to be a war!” Steve tried desperately, finally losing his coolness, “We don’t need to keep hunting each other. We can figure something out. We can take you to the gate. You can meet Namor.”
Varnae was no longer capable of listening. The pain was too much. The pain of losing an entire culture. The pain of losing Hannibal. The pain of seeing his own creations growing apart from him. The misery of having to see a son’s murderer in the eyes and having to hear lies pour from his lips. It was all too much for the old and torn down Gigantopithecus. Lies were not worth listening to, not from murderers.
“You…I am rebuilding a culture that people will yearn to join.” Varnae’s voice was low, but no less deep and rumbling, “A culture that will end war and focus on discovery. A culture that was the peak of this world. You can try to delay it. You can try to stop it. You are only betraying yourselves and your claimed values.”
“You’re killing hundreds.” Janet whispered, still in awe of seeing the creature for the first time.
“My creations need to feed. It is the order of nature. For everyone that is fed upon, billions of others will stand in the sun that is my creation.”
“Which is?” Thor asked in an even tone.
Varnae’s eyes remained as neutral as possible, yet some hope had formed. They did not know what he was after, then. Good. That gave him even more distance and time from them as he hunted for the artefact.
“For a better future for all of humanity.”
“If that’s the case, why not be a pal and share?” Tony suggested.
“I am not a fool. You all lack the conviction to save billions. You will try to stop me. You will fail. I offer you this truce one last time. If you attack any of my children again,” Varnae exhaled from his slitted nose, “I will kill every last one of you and hang your heads from my robes.”
Peter, Janet, Jennifer, Jackie and Tony all stiffened or shuddered at the threat. Even the Cloak of Levitation fluttered at the words and flew slightly closer to Peter.
“We won’t let you.” Steve bravely stated, “You’ve turned people into vampires against their will. You’ve robbed lives, and an idiot would know that you have nothing pleasant planned. If you don’t back down, we will stop you.”
Varnae shifted his arms forwards and swung his body a foot or so closer to the blonde. Thor was quick to stand at the human’s side, his fingers trickling with lightning. A look of foul condensation overcame the ape’s face.
“Which one of you will kill me? The soldier that needs war to be valued? You, Steve Rogers? I can see the pleasure you gain from my conflict. The purpose that I give you.” Steve’s eyes turned cold and his grip on the gun tightened, “A soldier needs war, and you look for it. You want me to the be enemy so that you have an enemy to fight.”
Steve bit his lip, tempted to protest. Shame. There was a sudden sense of shame that lashed at his chest and back, making it impossible to say anything at all. Varnae wasn’t right. He was a man before the Second World War. He was…He was still Steve. He was Steve after the war. A restless Steve that snuck out of his forced dwellings and away from Fury, only to then break into a S.H.I.E.L.D. storehouse. All of which was conflict…
“The scientist with a poisoned mate?” Varnae turned to Janet, who almost shouted something back until Thor touched her shoulder, “Poison. Yes, I smell it on you, as well.” Varnae turned to a suddenly glaring Tony, “I have heard of you, Anthony Stark. A shadow of your father’s light. A man that seeks truth in his drink and escape in his bed. Will you kill me? Your father killed many, but you cannot kill one.”
Tony’s face was pale. There was something in his chest. Something hot and wild and bitter. Without thinking, the man leapt for an ornament sword that was hanging upon the wall. A small, yet strong, pair of hands was enough to hold him back.
“The one that is like me. The accident of science.” Jennifer, whilst struggling to hold Tony, was still able to hear the creature’s sharp words, “Not human, not mutant. You don’t belong anywhere. You are wild, a beast. Untamed. You lack skill and control, like the child beside you. Alone. Young. Not a threat to my creations, not to me, either.” Peter lowered his head in shame, “Shall my creation challenge me?” Jackie went cold, wanting nothing more than to run as a tiny set of eyes rest upon her, “I created you. I can destroy you.”
Varnae turned to Thor and Strange. He was less intense with his gaze. In fact, he almost looked humoured by the both of them. Thor remained as neutral and imposing as he could, but Strange was panting as he leant on the cabinet. If Janet didn’t know any better, she would have guessed that he was having a panic attack of sorts. When Varnae spoke to them, it was with a crueller, mockery laced tone.
“Or the Aesir that betrayed his clan? You are not willing to kill me, for I am not your family, am I?” Thor snarled, his face shifting into a look of pure rage, “The exiled god that almost burned his kin to the ground. You lack wisdom and honour, Thor of Asgard. You may challenge me, but I will not show you the pity that your family did by letting you live.”
Thor was trembling. His face showed many different expressions, none of which were pleasant. His calls to Mjolnir were ignored, and he almost didn’t care. He almost stepped forward and released every river of lightning within his body onto the ape. It was only when he noticed Jennifer, Tony and the other mortals that he didn’t. An attack in such a small place would kill them all. They didn’t deserve to die from that. Thor would not ruin everything yet again.
“Or you?” Varnae finally turned to the quivering sorcerer, “The one that heralded my return to Earth. The one that held the door open for me. The one that stood as his people died. Will you kill me?”
Strange was silent. Much like Thor, he was also shaking, but not out of anger. His eyes were lowered, not being able to look Varnae in the face. It was the most horrifying look of guilt that any of the others had ever seen in their lives. Peter’s mouth dropped in sincere confusion while Tony’s brows met in anger. Even Steve looked…disappointed. The Cloak of Levitation dropped to the floor, as if unable to handle such words.
“Fight. Leave. Surrender. Join.” Varnae grumped, “What do what you wish. I have set my terms.”
His skin began to glow so bright that the others had to cover their eyes. When they opened them once more, Varnae was gone. A horrible silence pierced the room, as if a gunshot had just rung through. One by one, the gathered individuals turned to a single member in the room. Steve was gathering his breath, doing his best to brace himself.
“What…What did you do?”
When Strange looked up, it was with a broken face. His lip quivered and several trails of tears ran down his face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, never once being able to meet anyone in the eye.
“I’m…I’m so sorry.”
***
A/N: Hi all!
I hope you had a lovely week, and thank you so much for reading this far in! It’s fantastic, and I really hope that you’re still enjoying it.
Well, we’re in the endgame now. Only a few more chapters left, and the character’s stories will start to wrap up soon. Steve will be a stronger presence in the following chapters, as will Hank, and the tension around Peter’s confidence will be resolved...eventually. Next chapter will reveal just what Strange did to make him clinically depressed, as well as what Thor did to make him an exile on Earth. It’ll also build more on the Cauldron of the Cosmos a bit.
Thanks to everyone that commented with suggestions for the sequel! Very awesome to see, and one person literally guessed the main villain (they have good taste). I’ll do my best to incorporate some of the suggestions as naturally to my pre-planned story as I can.
Thank you so much for reading! If you have any feedback or suggestions, I always love to see kudos or comments. Otherwise, have a great end to the week.
Fact of the chapter: While the body is about 60-65% water, teeth and bones are only about 31% water. I can’t even think of a good pun or joke about that…
Chapter 12: The Paths That We Take
Chapter Text
There was a terrible morbidity to the room as so many sets of eyes sunk into a single man. All were agitated, anxious or even twitching. Tony and Jackie in particular, their frames shaking in ill conceived rage, bore a notable presence of bitterness. There was little optimism or hope from anyone. Even Steve and Peter, perhaps the most spirited of the gathered group, held back any thoughts on an easy answer or a simple explanation. They were quiet and looked pale under the many emerald flames of the Sanctum. It was so silent that a fly’s death would sound like a trumpet to the occupants. Every moment, every scuffle of clothing against skin or furniture, was all that stimulated the perked ears.
Strange’s body was almost trembling. Whilst often hunched, he was now wavering as if struggling a great deal against a heavy wind. His beady eyes were sunken, devoid of anything other than a sharp regret and pain that looked uncomfortable to witness. Had he not been so invested in the man’s upcoming words, Peter would have looked away. There was a very brief consideration of simply forming a portal and leaving, yet the sorcerer doubted that he could do so faster than Jackie could catch him. If he were to stun her and then try to flee, the others would no doubt come down upon him just as he restrained the vampire. Maybe it didn’t matter if they caught him. Perhaps, he deserved it. His options were thin, and his tongue felt leathery in his mouth. A horrid weight was on his chest, as if there was a tumour on his lungs that was poisoning his ability to breathe. What words eventually formed were made with a quiet, hollow voice that was difficult to decipher at first.
“I…I didn’t know.” He croaked, his face scrunching up as if he had suffered a burn.
“Didn’t know what?” Steve asked in a neutral tone.
There was a horrid feeling in his gut. It was the same feeling that he gained when on dark, silent missions. The type of mission where foes and enemies would appear from nowhere and everywhere at once, striking a horrible terror in the heart. The foreboding air always smelled different to when he was elsewhere. It felt sharper within his nose. It was the type of air that Steve was smelling now.
Strange took a long moment to steady his breathing. The naïve fantasy was over. Whatever hope or conviction that he had felt for the mission that the others were on was now dead. There would be no success, just a crumpled temple. One that it was better to destroy in a quicker manner than to drag it out.
“I…I was younger. An idiot.” Strange was unable to look into the eyes of any that were gathered, “I was never meant to be a sorcerer. Everyone…Everyone rejected me. Everyone except for the Sorcerer Supreme. He took me under his wing, despite everyone telling him no. So,” He gave a pathetic shrug, “I wanted to be…the best. I wanted to be…the best student. I read everything and practiced until I passed out each day.” His eyes closed, “I didn’t think it was enough. It wasn’t enough. I…I wasn’t enough. One day, I broke into the Reliquary. By accident, I found the Cauldron of the Cosmos.”
As he spoke, Peter suddenly felt shame and fear smack him rather violently. The mere mention of the same artefact that possibly ruined his friendship with Jen built both a sense of spite and frustration, but also regret and a much wider sense of understanding for Strange’s warnings.
“It’s a horrible object that…lies.” Strange continued, his voice getting even weaker, “It showed me Varnae. Varnae killing every single sorcerer, including my teacher.” His tone had shifted yet again, turning bitter, “I went to the masters, even the Sorcerer Supreme, but they rightly told me to ignore it. It was more bluntly worded than that. I tried to. I did. Months went by, but the Cauldron…It latches on you.”
Peter’s face was now creased as Strange continued. For a reason that he didn’t want to admit, he was now very eager for the sorcerer to stop mentioning the relic and to continue with his story. He was not the only one. Janet’s mouth was gaped slightly, seeing the man that had held finished her husband’s work turning into a broke mess. Her sympathy was mixed with a deep anxiety for she, like Steve, had lived enough in a chaotic world to know the warning signs of something sinister approaching.
“I snuck back in, and it showed me the same images. Over and over. I kept warning the masters, but they tried to lock the Cauldron away or to seal it from onlookers. That didn’t stop me. I was so…terrified of losing them, the only people that accepted me as…family,” Strange’s voice broke, “that I needed to defend them. To stop Varnae before he killed them. I guessed from the images where the battle would take place and I went there. Alone. Desperate and determine to kill him first.” Strange’s face became hollow, “It was the same location that Varnae was banished from Earth. A hidden, secret place. Magical battles leave scars in the universe. The Sorcerer Supreme at the time used such background magic from the battle to form a…barrier around Earth. A specific lock. But…the magic of the battle was also…the key.” There was yet another pause from the quivering man as he leaned on the nearest cabinet for support, “When I arrived, my portal’s magic mixed with the surrounding magic of the seal. It recognised me as a student of the Sorcerer Supreme and…”
Strange was unable to finish, the shame too great. The Cloak of Levitation, still hovering protectively near Peter, dropped slightly. It, too, seemed horrified at the story. Tony’s jaw was tense as he chewed nothingness. His eyes narrowed as he spoke with a snarl.
“You let him in.”
Strange’s body stiffened, as if expecting a punch from the man. None came. Thor looked away, a deep sigh being released.
“He arrived, confused but soon realised what I was. Not knowing what else to do, I tried to fight him. I lasted…I was saved by…” Strange’s voice cracked, “The order tried to stop him but they all…Even the Sorcerer Supreme…I was left to bury them. Not even worth killin-”
A crack echoed in the room. Before Jennifer could understand what was happening, she saw Steve rushing towards Jackie. The redhead was hissing like a beast as she throttled Strange, his head smashing against a wooden cabinet. He didn’t resist her, however. His eyes were blank and empty as they stared at the ground, even as the vampire cut off his air.
“I disagree!” She sobbed, her fangs bared to the others for the first time, “You did this. You gave me these! You took everything!”
“Jackie, enough.” Steve warned as he grabbed a shoulder and a wrist, “Enough!”
The two engaged in a silent battle as they stared at each other. To his credit, Steve did not waver or flinch, even as the vampire’s fangs shone in the light.
“You’re not like this.” He whispered gently, so that only Jackie could hear.
Her eyes dropped to her own hands as they tightened around Strange’s red and raw throat. The fangs within her jaw felt heavy and disgusting to have. It was a feeling that she self-consciously felt whenever she looked at herself in the mirror and saw what she had been turned into. Almost reluctantly and with very clear frustration, Jackie released Strange. The look of disgust upon her face as he dropped to his knees remained constant as she silently stepped backwards. Steve did not help Strange up. Rather, the soldier stepped back as well. Not knowing what to think about such a grave and horrid mistake, the blonde sighed and chose to be silent. Emotional or ill thought words wouldn’t help them in their current situation, not when overcome by Varnae’s numbers. Unfortunately, not all had such restraint.
“Well, isn’t this fucking brilliant.” Tony laughed without mirth, “Great. Just great. You fucking idiot.” He snapped at Strange, “We’re in this shit because of you. Everyone…Every single person that’s dead is-”
“Dead…because of me.” Strange whispered, still on his knees, “I know. I know.”
“You did not heed the words of wisdom from those that lived through such mistakes.” Thor added, his tone careful and without malice or shame, “You should have listened to your teachers, and not your fears.”
Thor’s words triggered an unusual reaction within Strange. While Tony’s words and even Jackie’s violence did not drag against his heart, hearing any form of criticism from Thor of all people made the sorcerer scowl. The hypocrisy felt hot against his ear. Rising to his feet, the pressure in his chest was replaced by a sharpness that flared every single part of his oversensitive mind.
“A cheap comment from you, Crown Prince of Asgard.” The man seethed, his voice suddenly loud, “Remind me how you came to this place? I’m not the only…mistake here.”
There was a moment of silence. Everyone turned to Thor, expecting a humoured dismissal or even response. There was only a distance, heavy look within his old eyes.
“Ah, great. What the fuck’d you do?” Tony asked the god, no trace of playfulness or humour in his crackling voice as he stepped in front of him.
Both Peter and Jen’s stomachs dropped at the exchange, having viewed the humble and greying god with much fondness. The Aesir did not adopt Strange’s misery or his desire to flee. In fact, he looked accepting, as if he had been anticipating this moment often. The ancient being stroked his beard slightly, figuring honesty was perhaps the best route. These were people that he had been in battle with, who had risked their lives at his side. If he had given anything other than honesty, Strange would no doubt correct him immediately, anyway.
“If Strange’s tale is one of foolishness, mine is one of arrogance. From what Peter of Parker has stated, your myths and stories of my people are not wholly accurate. Asgard is…Asgard gained its dominance in the Nine Realms through conflict and then peace.” Thor’s professional yet casual tone reminded both Jennifer and Janet of a professor teaching his class, an image that his beard aided, “I was raised during the war with the Vanir, our rival clan. It was…a violent war. I did not have toys, I had weapons. I reckoned with the Vanir with Mjolnir at my side and the thunders at my boots. It was my purpose and I…” The god suddenly gained many years of age as he forced himself to continue, “I enjoyed it. When peace was made, I was…so blinded by my bloodlust that I did not question why my father, the king, had so swiftly gone to war with the Jotun. A war that was more glorious than the last,” He mocked.
As much as he hated it, Steve could appreciate the story to a small level. War was structure, it was a routine. Live through one long enough, and it can dig into your mind and make you miss its poisonous symptoms and effects. It took Steve weeks to get over how soft his pillows were, and he had only been in a conflict for several years. Being an immortal born into a hellish war would shape a man into something that Steve had no desire in meeting.
“I had brothers and sisters. I did not know them well unless if they…were on the battlefield at my side. I did not…care for them if they did not wield a weapon for Asgard. There was one, a fostered orphan, that was skinny and weak. A Jotun that amused Odin enough to be invited to his court. He did his best to win our love, my love, yet I only mocked and shunned him. His tricks and jokes were met with mead being thrown at his face or his clothing being torn in halls.”
Shame overcame Thor’s face. Shaking it slightly, he forced himself to continue.
“His desire for family soon turned to justified pain. My brother tried to find belonging elsewhere. Making his own family with another Jotun, his children were soon imprisoned for they were dangerous and beastly. Monsters destined to end my people, as foretold by the Norn’s visions. Dismayed by his children’s pain, he came…to me asking for help.” Thor’s face softened in the memory, “I laughed at him and said if he was a better warrior, he would not have allowed his children to be in chains.” Thor closed his eyes, “Had I…been better, my brother would not have cast us aside. Feeling no loyalty to us, he attempted to bring the end of the universe itself. Ragnarök. He knew the prophecy well and he was clever. He believed that he could initiate the events in the prophecy by…first killing our brother, Baldur. He almost succeeded.”
Strange’s eyes once again diverted, as if the memory caused him a great deal of discomfort as well. Everyone else listened intently. Even Tony, whose anger was still hissing through his spine, was captured by the tone and smoothness of Thor’s voice. It was the underlying, ever-present feeling of sadness within his words that may it so unsettling for the others to bear witness to. Janet was stuck in a permanent grimace, while Jackie’s rage had finally dispelled into shock.
“With his trickery, he almost made Baldur’s own twin kill him. Odin, not knowing the lies or that Baldur had in fact survived, had his own son killed. Loki was bound, cursed to bear the poison of a giant serpent as the price for his sin. It was another sign of Ragnarök, and Loki welcomed his torture. He mocked me, telling me of Ragnarök’s approach.” Thor’s sigh was heavy, “I did not care. For his screams, heard across the Nine Realms, drove his children mad with a rage unknown to any with sanity. They tried to unite with the Jotun, Surtr, and the demons of Muspelheim to destroy the suns and the moons. I did nothing to stop it, for it was…to be the glorious end to my people. Blood stained the silver grass of Asgard, and I welcomed it. The ultimate battle. A war of the gods.” Thor drifted off, his mind temporarily lost in a horrid memory, “I welcomed it until I turned behind me. I saw the dead. The thousands. The children. I heard the screaming. Not just of Asgard, but of every world that I had raged war on. I saw the stilled eyes of all those that had stood against me. No, not against me. That I stood against. Amongst the madness, I threw down my hammer and broke into Odin’s treasury. I banished the enemies of Asgard to their realms using,” Thor’s face creased as if he struggled to remember, “a jewel of some kind that Odin kept well-hidden in the vaults. What was left was fire.” Thor exhaled once more, his words clearly heavy on his lips, “My arrogance and my love of war made me turn my back to my own brother, and my own people.”
“So, they kicked you out because…you didn’t stop your brother?” Jennifer asked softly.
Thor snorted. The smile that he gave her was not at all pleasant. A new bitterness formed within his eyes.
“My father came to know of the conversations that my brother had with me. He knew of…my blindness. I was the only one of my family that Loki ever came to, and I was the main fool to turn his back on him. As I said, I did not care unless you carried a sword. I could have prevented the threat of Ragnarök by just listening to him and not treating war like a game.”
There was a long time for the group to process such information. Steve’s face was in his hands. The earlier sickness of having some empathy towards Thor had only mounted as Varnae’s words rung in his ears. War. That was clearly something that Thor and Steve had in common. A purpose in war. Without it, there would be no point in soldiers or warriors. Yet, in both cases, it had arguably ruined both of their lives. Thor through Ragnarök, and Steve being stuck in ice and losing everyone that he loved. Every friend, every family member, every comrade. Dead through time due to a mission that froze him. He could not look at Thor. He could not bare to see a man with such parallel consequences to their paths in life. The difference was that Thor could see the errors in his ways, yet Steve still carried his shield. A shield that protected people, innocent people. Yet, the cost of protecting them was still harsh, on both himself and on others. Such confusing and conflicting emotions made the captain close his eyes and do his best to stop replaying Varnae’s cutting words in his mind. He failed miserably.
The length of the day and lack of sleep jabbed at Jennifer’s rationality. She was keenly aware that she was not there at either of the events that the men had described. A lawyer of all people knew how subjective facts could be, and out laced with interpretation that words often were. Due to that, Jennifer didn’t know what to think about either story. On the one hand, both were horrid stories that resulted in countless deaths. The blind arrogance of one man almost obliterated his homeland, while the paranoia of the other caused this entire debacle to begin. It was due to Strange that Jennifer’s door was smashed open, and her throat was almost bitten into. It was due to Strange that countless murders and disappearances had taken place. It was due to Strange that she had ended up in such a confusing and chaotic situation. It was due to Strange that she felt sick to the stomach but was too shocked to do anything about it.
“What a waste of time.” Tony whispered bitterly, drawing her attention, “All of this. We’d have had better luck just killing the wizard and ignoring the…fucking murder god. At least then we’d have accomplished something. Can’t believe this.”
He muttered to himself several times, humiliated and shamed at having been so invested in believing that they could all save the city and end Varnae’s cruelty. Whatever desperate desire to be as strong and useful as the others that he had once felt, now meant nothing to the crumbling man. As usual, there was only disappointment at the end of his hope. Much like with his family, those that he had held high, even silently, were just as corrupt and horrid as his father. He should never had come. Had it not been for Janet or his desperation to prove himself, perhaps he never would have. If only he had been wiser.
“Absolute joke.” He continued, shaking his head, “How many are dead because of you, Strange? Huh? Hundreds? Thousands?!” He barked.
“Really?” Janet scoffed with a reddening face, “A Stark lecturing someone on death registers? How well did your family do during World War Two and Nam? Remind me again how your father made your allowance?”
Janet was the last person that Tony had expected to challenge him, and his family’s previous business was the last topic that he’d expect her to pick, given that she knew all too well the sensitivity of the topic. That was clear by the shocked and very stilled expression that he momentarily held. Something in his lower stomach turned hot, and his ability to calm himself before snapping faded into white heat.
“Mistakes. You’d know all about those. Well, the person a few rooms that way does.”
He regretted the comment as soon as it left his lips. The anger upon Janet’s face faded into mere hurt. Her eyes softened into a vulnerable expression and her lips gaped slightly as she became slightly. Guilt snapped at Tony’s chest but he was unable to find the right words to soothe such a callous comment. At Janet’s side, Jennifer put her hands on her hips.
“You are…a complete asshole. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh, great. The lean, mean, green ma-”
“Shut the hell up.” She hissed hastily, making Tony frown, “All you are is just…unpleasant. You’re just unpleasant. You have all the money and brains in the world, and you’re just an asshole.” Tony’s mouth opened and Jennifer was quick to silence him again, “An asshole that’s needed to be saved every time he tried to do something. You want to call out Janet’s mistakes? Let’s all sit down and start writing the script to the historical epic that is a person just reading out all of your disasters.”
The veins in her heavy eyes were thick. Her breathing was a series of pants, and she could feel her body tighten with a familiar sensation. Tony was aware, or at least concerned, about what was possibly next as well. He stepped back with a look of ill-concealed fear as Jennifer hastily deepened her breathing. Everyone was so…dumb and argumentative. This wasn’t what they needed right now. Why the hell couldn’t they see that? The lack of sleep and the constant yelling caused a heavy headache to throb deeply within her mind. It was becoming very difficult to remain calm and at peace, especially with the thoughts of hurting Peter still fresh in her mind. Peter. As she snuck a peek at him, he was quick to avoid eye contact with her. A pang of new guilt hit her, only adding to her already unbalanced mood.
When she looked again, she saw that Peter was on the move. Everyone broke off their arguments or muttering to see Peter shaking his head. The usually Labrador-like teen was dull and hollow, his movements forced and without purpose. Tired, disappointed eyes scanned each and every person, most of whom looked at him back. People that he had wanted to go into battle with and to save the day along side with. People who were by far the coolest that he had ever been near, some of which he had idolised. People that actually respected human. People that caused countless deaths, were just mean people, or didn’t have the same affection that he had for them. He should have stayed in his apartment. At least there he could sleep.
As soon as Peter left, Tony’s head dropped. Unable and undesiring of saying anything further, the inventor silently stormed out of the room. Jackie disappeared next, the faint sound of her sniffing miserably echoing in Steve’s ears. One by one, the group disbanded. Strange’s body faded into the air, and even the Cloak of Levitation collapsed onto the floor. Its sorrow was too great.
Soon, only Steve was left. For yet another instance of his life, the soldier was all that remained. No comrades, no leaders, no orders. Just an empty where fools once stood. He did not have many regrets. He stood by his heart, as his mother had always told him to. It was for that reason why he felt compelled to serve his nation, even with his frail body. He did not regret taking the serum, for he was able to stop H.Y.D.R.A., even if the personal cost was great. A cost that still hurt him as he sat in a room, four decades after he slept. Maybe he should have stayed with Fury, a strong leader that could have found out about the vampires in his own way. It was pointless second guessing the past, but that fact did not make living in the present any easier. It was easier being in a unit in the army. Everyone knew their roles and responsibilities, and the hierarchy was respected because they trusted Steve with their lives. They were soldiers, like Steve. People that he could emphasise with and speak to as equals and as a leader.
The soldier sighed, massaging his chin twice. These weren’t soldiers, and he was no longer a strong leader. Not anymore and not in the time that he had awoken. Varnae was right in that regard. Steve really did need war for a purpose.
***
Thor’s abode within the Sanctum Santorum was a plain room with only a bed and a clothing rack that held his armour up poorly. Like every other room, a dark green coloured the walls and a fine carpet warmed the feet of the occupant. An occupant that stood staring at the thick hammer resting in the middle of the floor. A hammer that no longer rose for him. A hammer that refused to summon lightning or thunder, as it once had with great hunger. A hammer that had turned its back on Thor, just as he had done to Loki. The rare metal of the hammer was polished so much so that Thor’s face stared back at him. It was a blank, loathing stare. A stare that was commonly given towards Thor’s enemies before ending them with a strike of wild lightning.
He did not deserve Asgard. The look of disgust and judgement upon his new companions only confirmed that. It was only a trickle of the revulsion that his father had given him when his failings as a brother became known. When his passions overtook his responsibilities as a protector. Protector. A title that had no place near Thor’s name. It was the duty of the Asgardians to ensure that the Nine Realms were protect, yet Thor had only purged that. He had been so willing to enjoy the benefits of a being a prince. The mead, the women, the battles. Never once had the spoiled child cared much for the much needed actions that merited such rewards. A fool. A spoiled fool. One that deserved his removal from his royal family. An exile, wrapped in shame instead of his fine clothe. People were meant to feel safe behind him, not terrified at being struck by aimless blows. Thor deserved his exile. He deserved the look of distain thrust upon him. He deserved Mjolnir’s silence. Asgard would have been better without his birth. Perhaps then, Loki would have found a more caring sibling and Haldur would be alive. The children of Loki would not be hiding in shadows on worlds unknown to even Odin, lurking and waiting.
Perhaps, Odin knew that truth as well. Maybe, he also desired Thor’s death. Even if it did not undo his son’s mistakes, it would remove the embarrassment from his line. Varnae would certainly complete the task. Thor had met many enemies with Mjolnir’s might in his veins, yet Varnae was something else. He gave Thor a very unique feeling. A very genuine understanding that it was entirely possible that he was going to die when he faced him again. Fear cut into his pride so quickly that Thor had forgotten any hope of standing against Varnae. Well, alone against Varnae. There had been a glimmer of a hope birthing as he had spent time with his new companions. One of being able to overcome the demon ape with people truly exceptional for Midgard. Less than an hour ago, that hope had died miserably.
He did not know what he would find when travelling to Midgard. His belief of finding redemption or resolution were not strong. The cold, distant eyes of his family as he walked through the mighty tower of Heimdall. He knew that Varnae was a mighty foe, yet there was a strange numbness that was caused by that very fact. He knew that the chances of returning to Asgard were bordering on impossible, but there was no horrid longing or overwhelming pain. There was a longing to return home, as any normal person would feel. But he had a defeated acceptance that Asgard was behind him. It was factual. There was no point in denying it or being overly mournful towards it. Even when the numbness broke and his heart clenched at childhood memories, it was never too long before reality sunk in. He was an exile without a weapon and facing a demon. Asgard was behind him. There was no point in enjoying misery about it.
It was only in recent days that there had been a different feeling in his chest. One born by his new shield brothers and sisters, people that were mighty and did not quiver in front of danger. People that reminded him often of his family. People that he had found an unusual pride in, for had even faced Varnae himself and did not seem to baulk or shiver. They still had the spirit that Thor had seen when he had first visited Midgard and led the locals into skirmishes and battles against magical threats that had appeared. The memories made Thor close his eyes and long for them deeply. Much time had passed for Thor, as well. He had changed, just as many humans had since his visits. For if humanity and its defenders had gained courage and honour, Thor had lost his.
He was not worthy to lead them against such a foe. He was unworthy to lead anyone, not with so many lives at his feet and so many mistakes in his heart. He should not have been born. It was a heavy thought that made his muscles too much to carry or move. A thought that pressed the air out of his lungs and permanently creased his face into a weak and desperate look of forlorn. A thought that removed any desire to fight with his companions or try to resist Varnae. Asgard and Midgard deserved a stronger, wiser protector. They deserved better.
***
Strange’s eyes were soft and watering, staring into the flames of the Cauldron of the Cosmos with such pain that running water would have stilled at the sight of such agony. As he stared into the flickering flames, he felt no pain, no rage, no misery. Just a horrid heaviness. A numbness that weighed down his veins and made it impossible to move. Furthermore, there was a complete lack of desire to move, at any rate. Why bother, when there was no where to move to? No room in the house could undo his mistakes. No occupant could meet his eyes except for Jackie, and her eyes were filled with justified murderous intent. He didn’t blame her. She had every right to kill him. To take away his life, just as he had taken away hers.
It was quite impossible to even quantify the amount of lives ruined by his stupidity and desperation. The entirety of the sorcerers had been wiped out, with possibly a small fraction in hiding. It was difficult to tell. In such emergencies, the likes of which were only mentioned in the darkest of their histories, the secluded members of the order hid for years at a time. That was if they survived. There was no way of knowing just how swiftly Varnae had hunted his international counterparts down. No one had answered any of his calls. He was the last. There was no point in sobbing over it, as he had already done so for days at a time. Then there were the countless that Varnae had turned or killed, and the others that had been feasted upon. Lives taken and warped into a living hell, never able to return to normal. Just like Jackie, a girl that hadn’t even gotten a year through college. One with her entire life ahead of her, a life that was now fiction and fantasy.
So many lives silent, like ripples in water calming into a horribly still lake. Thousands dead or ruined. A sorcerer was to protect the human and mystic world, not hurl them against each other and watch everything crumple as a result. He was not fit to be a sorcerer. The masters were right. The Sorcerer Supreme should have turned his back on Strange. In fact, the mere fact that he didn’t caused Strange to suddenly hiss and glare as a painful anger dug into his flesh. If he had never been accepted, so many lives would remain. What the hell was the Sorcerer Supreme thinking? He could have prevented this. He could have seen the mistake that was Doctor Stephen Strange. He should have known better than to put faith in someone so…pathetic and dumb. The fact that he had been given a chance…It was almost sickening in hindsight.
Strange shook his head, suddenly holding back vengeful tears. He was a fool. An arrogant idiot, just like he always had been. Not even a car crash that almost killed him could change that. The same car crash that had killed the woman next to him. There was a level of dark humour to the event. He had been a clever surgeon, always knew what was best. A fact that he lorded over the practitioners with. Yet, despite all of that smugness, he still crashed into the Brooklyn Bridge. He still killed the woman that had been ‘relieving his stress’. He was a talented sorcerer, given his age and the amount of time within training. He understood concepts well beyond his years and was practicing spells that even some of the masters did not know. That all meant nothing now that they were all dead. Every last one of them. People that had far better worth than he had, for they were actually capable of being guardians of the mystic world. People that listened to those around them. People that could actually save others. People that deserved life.
It was a truly horrible feeling when the numbers of those dead because of one’s actions were incalculable. It was impossible for the sorcerer to even visualise how many could be dead because of him, both due to the sheer number and the fact that the numbers were still rising. He was meant to protect them, not allow them to suffer or die. One man’s failures had cost so much. Strange’s breathing was almost painful, so much so that his face was now a deep grimace. Walking on numb, branch like legs did not ease the coils around his lungs. He shouldn’t have been a sorcerer. Everything could have been prevented if he was never a sorcerer. An arrogant, easily manipulated idiot of a sorcerer. From the car on the bridge to the Sanctum Santorum. It was all just an endless line of mistakes, half-thoughts and irrational reactions. All of which stemmed from the car crash, one that he should never have walked away from. Losing his hands was not enough, not when so many others had lost far more.
Thick, heavy thoughts encased Strange’s mind. Over and over, the bridge was cut into his mind and forced all other emotions from his body. The bridge that he had crashed on. The bridge where he was found by the sorcerer and taken in. The two greatest mistakes in the history of Strange’s life. Try as he might to resist it, the thickness of such memories and self-resentment clung to him like a seeping oil. Soon, Strange gave offered no reluctance as such miserable thoughts enveloped him. A numbness soaked his anger and his misery. A numbness that took away the sharpness of any logic or hope within his heart. A numbness that overtook any unease or concern as his broken hands spun ever so slightly. Behind him, a door of light appeared and inched closer and closer. Strange cared not, for he could not bring himself to care about anything other than the memories of the bridge. His body shone yellow, his skin fading as his vanished through the portal, his mind and magic latched onto the greatest mistakes of his life and the bridge that began them.
***
The walls made her sick. The carpet felt like it was moving and crawling underneath her feet. Jackie was not meant to be with the Sanctum, within the same place as him. Doctor Stephen Strange. The man that had taken everything from her. Her family in England would no doubt be terrified of her and run, screaming for the hills and hell itself. Her friends would view her as a freak or monster, wanting nothing to do with her. College meant nothing if there wouldn’t be a job or stable career from it. What possible career could a vampire have? She was immortal. Sooner or later, those working with her would notice that she wasn’t aging or eating. She could move every few years, but that wouldn’t resolve issues with things like taxes or government records which would no doubt notice someone living for over a hundred years and still looking like she was nineteen. There was no feasible way for her to have a normal life anymore, and it was all due to the man whose house she was currently in.
Jackie could smell him, even within her room at the far end of the Sanctum, away from those with beating hearts and fresh blood. To Jackie, the urge to snap Strange’s neck was as sharp and horrid as the fangs that he gave her. Violent fantasies played within her heart as she stood, glaring vacantly at a bare wall. Fantasies of snapping Strange’s neck, of violently ripping off his limbs. One particularly colourful image was slicing his throat with her fangs. As she processed the last image, her sharpened teeth almost throbbed and made Jackie pale. They were not meant to be within her mouth. They were foreign, unwanted, disgusting. Parts of her body, much like her new senses and strength, that made Jackie want to vomit. She was a stranger in her own body, all thanks to the man that she could easily kill. She doubted that he would resist. It was unlikely that the miserable man would resist. She could see the darkness in his eyes, and that, for some reason, angered her even more. It was as though he didn’t have the right to be upset. Jackie was the one that was to be miserable, for she was the one that had suffered, not Strange.
She was a vampire. A monster. Someone doomed to take lives and drink their blood for eternity, unless she found a constant source of donated blood. A teacher. That’s all that she wanted to be. Someone that helped kids learn, not drink their blood. A deep exhale left the woman and she closed her eyes. The weight in her heart pulled her rage down into the worst sadness that she had ever left in her life. She was alone. She couldn’t go back to her family or friends. Her human life was realistically gone. Even Varnae would not take her back. The monster was no doubt hunting her for her betrayal. He was a violent, savage animal when he wanted to be. For all of his slow words that mirrored Classical philosophers, he was still an ape. He still killed when he desired or viewed that he needed. Something that meant not even other vampires would accept Jackie. She was a vampire that was truly alone, all thanks to Doctor Stephen Strange.
Yet, despite that, she could not muster her rage again. It was just…misery and loneliness. She didn’t want to be a monster, she never wanted to hurt anyone. She didn’t want to kill Strange. Despite everything that he had taken from her, Jackie still didn’t want to kill him and she felt pathetic for that. Maybe she was a coward and simply lacked a spine. The redhead didn’t want to believe it was that. She just…wasn’t a murderer, not entirely. Her throat tightened as her breathing became short and strained. The sense of entrapment and the shackles around her made it difficult to think or process her emotions. Rage, pain, loneliness, confusion. It all snapped and cracked and clawed wildly at the sensitive walls of her mind. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want this hell.
Her legs lost their ability to support her body. Slowly, the redhead crumbled onto the floor. Knees touching her nose, her eyes closed. She just wanted to go home. With such a bitter thought, the small girl began to sob in the dark, empty room.
***
Steve had not yet gathered the desire to lift himself off from his spot near the cabinet. While it was not overly comfortable sitting on such a hard wooden floor, he did not busy himself with caring. His mind was elsewhere. The silence of the Sanctum and the emptiness of the meeting room allow much room for thought within the soldier. It was a bizarre room in a bizarre building. Yet again, how Steve ended up in such a place within his life was difficult for him to understand. He knew how each event led to the next and could chronologically comprehend how he was currently within the Sanctum Santorum. That did not extend to his mind being able to wrap itself around those events, however. From a struggling teen from Brooklyn, to a super soldier, to being frozen for decades, to being surrounded by magic.
As a boy, whenever confronting or overwhelming things happened to Steve, his mother would state that it was part of God’s path for Steve and that it was merely one step leading to many others. A much younger Steve struggled to visualise how having an absent father could lead to something better. He further struggled to understand why God would make such steps for him to walk. As Steve grew older, such a philosophy was put to the back of his mind. It was hard to be theological when bullets were splintering the skulls of friends or when agonising experiments were tearing and rebuilding his entire muscular system hundreds of times over in mere seconds. Steve did not see the Second World War as a step for him to push past. Rather, he saw it as the result of the evil within madmen feasting on the insecurities of the world and plunging it into a madness fuelled by death and other atrocities. It was something to survive and stop, not to push on through and land to the next event in life. Yet, as Steve sat in a magical room, he couldn’t help but see such moments in his life as steps, in a way, at least. The war led to his transformation, which led to his clash with H.Y.D.R.A., which led to his freezing, which led to him coming face to face with vampires. If everything was just steps in life, a cold chill formed at the thought of just what was at the end of such a path.
Not all stories ended well. Enough of his friends were dead for him to know that. As he sat alone as hundreds of vampires amassed, he was realistic about the odds of anything being accomplished. If there had been a small chance of victory or saving people’s lives with the aid of those who were also within the house, it was all but dead now. All in all, it was difficult for Steve to see just where this path led, if it led anywhere at all. His mother was a kind woman, caring for her saddened son. That didn’t mean that what she was saying in comfort was real or genuine. Events could be just that, events. If that was the case, life truly was cruel for nearly all that experienced it. It was a bitter thing for the idealistic soldier to process, yet it was the only strong thought that accompanied him as he sat on the floor. A floor that was suddenly damp.
A puddle. Following the trail of water from his boots, Steve saw a trail of water on the floor that led to a small stream coming out of thin air. Steve’s lips gaped slightly as he leaned forward and crawled towards the tiny hole in the middle of the air. The tiny stream of water was slowly getting bigger. In fact, many streams of water were pouring onto the floor as the hole was now visible. From the size of a dime, a watery orb grew and grew within the middle of the room. Steve hastily jumped to his feet. Without thinking too strongly, his hand reached for the decorative axe that hung from the dark emerald wall and braced himself. The orb was now the size of a door and grew even more. The floor was saturated, yet Strange was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was Strange coming back into the room through yet another spell that Steve was yet to witness. A mildly annoyed voice in the back of Steve’s head muttered who it thought that it was, however. Much to Steve’s displeasure, a tall, masculine man holding a golden and bronze sceptre stepped into the room with his nose already turned up.
Namor was quick to look at Steve, eyeing him with only mild interest. In fact, he seemed rather perturbed that it was only Steve in the room. His clear desire for a welcome party, or at least an audience, was shown in his buffed out and bare chest and the dramatic way that he flicked his green and black cape over his shoulder. A cloak that Steve knew was worn solely for this meeting, as he doubted that someone that lived underwater would have much use for a cape of all things.
“Steven Rogers.” The Prince of Atlantis acknowledge, his unusual accent thick and his ‘r’s rolled heavily.
“Prince Namor.” Steve inclined his head carefully.
The gesture seemed to placate Namor. A smug smile grew on his sharp face. With a lazy hand gesture, the watery door behind him vanished. Steve’s eyes grew at such a magical action, only for said eyes to wince as Namor stabbed his sceptre into the wooden tiles and sat on the nearest couch. Well, he slumped himself like a Greek god expecting to be fed grapes and wine.
“Where is the sorcerer? I wish to speak with him.” The Atlantean’s eyes lazily looked around, “His shields are weak. It didn’t take me long at all to break through them.” A smirk appeared, “Do not be offended. Magic is taught to all within my kingdom, more than just the tricks that the humans learn.”
“I wouldn’t know either way.” Steve admitted with a deep sigh, “If he’s not in his room, he’s gone. We’re all…gone. Not a great day.”
Steve’s head lowered and he took his seat across from Namor. Unlike the man lying on his back and resting his head on the armrest, Steve was sitting awkwardly and perched upright. His eyes were droopy and his cheek twitched every so often. Namor examined such a forlorn expression closely, for it was a far cry from the strong and powerful man that spoke for an Asgardian, a vampire and a gigantic woman with the best arse that Namor had seen in a long time. The urge to make a snarky remark was trampled by the pragmatic need to be diplomatic. As entitled as Namor was, he wasn’t an idiot. Even he knew when to keep his ego in check, especially with someone so…defeated in appearance. While the sorcerer and master of the house was his intended target, having a man such as Captain America in his company was no small consolation prize.
“How can I help?” Steve asked with a gentle smile.
Namor’s face went through a cycle of emotions that almost broke Steve out of his mood. First, the prince was annoyed, then almost desperate, anxious, and then finally neutral. Regaining his diplomatic mindset, Namor thought his words over very carefully. Staying on his back, the Atlantean turned to stare at the ceiling.
“I must ask for your aid.” Namor answered with a barely audible tone, “I’m in…a problematic situation.”
“Why would I help you? You couldn’t care less about Varnae.”
It was a petty comment, and Steve regretted how childish that it sounded. Yet, he was tired, drained and not overly fond of the arrogant royal that had no qualm in mocking Steve or making the girls uncomfortable. The idea of such a man asking for Steve’s help was almost amusing. But, even with his day turning into a disaster, Steve could not turn him away. At least, not without genuine cause.
Namor sighed softly, his face creasing and wrinkling.
“That’s not entirely true.” Was the soft response, “You need to understand some things. Varnae is part of a history that we left behind. While many of our…actions and inventions of our surface-dwelling ancestors were part of a golden age, other areas were…”
“Not something to be proud of.”
“Hmm. The animal is not even the worst creation or monster of that era. He is, however, the only one that has returned. It’s…put us in an uncomfortable position to acknowledge the return of such a being.” Namor suddenly scoffed loudly and rose to sit up straight, “It’s embarrassing, Steven Rogers. This…failed experiment keeps running around-”
“And killing people.” Steve cut in, his face stern.
Namor’s annoyance simmered into what could be perceived as shame. After a moment of gathering his thoughts, he spoke once more in his care way.
“Yes, I am aware. Steven Rogers, I am in a complicated situation. Varnae and his creations are not a threat to my people. Vampires are not the sharks that you think they are. They are…eels that eat prawns.”
“And we’re the prawns?”
“Compared to my species, yes.” Namor replied matter-of-factly, “He is not a threat to my kingdom, so we…are less concerned. The pollution that humans are committing to our waters is not helping our opinion of you. If a few thousand die due to a mongrel vampire, so be it.” Namor paused, staring at the floor, “I like to be practical and would like to be a preventative king, not a reactive one. The ape may become a threat that...”
“That you can’t handle.”
Namor stiffened and exhaled softly.
“Normally, I would not care about this matter. To be direct, it’s a dirt-walker problem, even if my ancestors made it. But this is not normal times. I know what the beast seeks.” Namor’s tone shifted into a darker one, “It’s called the ‘Cul’nir’. A rough translation is ‘great teacher’.”
Steve perked up immediately. His eyes tightened and refocussed, and a long dormant feeling of analysing a tactical situation awoke. Leaning forward, he nodded for Namor to continue.
“We thought it was destroyed with the surface cities. I hope it is destroyed. I don’t know how it works, nor do any of my historians or engineers. But I know what it does. It was used by the ancients as a tool for educating the young in the thousands. It is able to transfer the knowledge of the user into the minds of thousands, maybe even millions. We think it was how my ancestors were able to advance so quickly. Each master of a skill or technology would simply transfer their understandings into the minds of the young.”
Steve frowned, quickly stumbling across something of great anxiety.
“If it puts information into someone’s mind, how does it separate fact from opinion?”
Namor’s silent look of unease answered Steve immediately. The soldier rubbed his jaw as he suddenly understood what Varnae was looking for and why he was so determined to find it.
“From the few surviving references that my people have, the device was also capable of imprinting the user’s ideology into a man. One journal states that there was mechanisms within the device to make sure that it wasn’t…able to control the minds of the students, however. Again, it was for education, not indoctrination.”
“But if Varnae can remove those mechanisms, he can put whatever he believes in into other people’s heads?” Steve shook his head before growing heated, “And you still don’t want to get involved?”
“Why do you think I’m here, fool?” Namor barked, “If my people find out that the ape has returned and if he is able to find the Cul’nir, it will be madness in Atlantis. Fear will turn into riots. Whatever respect and authority that I have will die to paranoia.” Namor was now panting strongly, “That is if he doesn’t use the device on my people. Yes, I care.” The prince sneered, “I care enough to have come to you with this information. I cannot act directly, not with the king being…like he is.” Namor’s voice broke into a pained whisper.
Steve’s expression was a mix between a glare and simply being done with the conversation and Namor in general. A small part of him could honestly understand the political situation that Namor was possibly in, but a cynical part of Steve simply didn’t accept that as the whole truth. It was a part of Steve that spoke the loudest in his sleepless mind.
“Why not come with me and face Varnae?” He asked carefully, looking at Namor’s reaction very closely.
The prince knew what Steve was attempting to gleam from him, and he was quick to become as stoic as possible. However, the cocky and often flamboyant prince still had some obvious tells. His eyes were highly expressive and showed a great unease. No, it was fear in those eyes. A very genuine and mounting fear at the idea of having to fight ancient ape.
“You don’t think you can beat him.”
It wasn’t a question. A tense silence grew as the two men stared at each other. Namor’s stoicism wrinkled into a glare. One that was met almost with sympathy. The gentler look was enough to break Namor’s glare into a defeated expression and he was quick to turn his head away.
“Your assembled group has proven…effective against the vampires in the past. I do have…high hopes for you to resolve this matter.”
“Assembled group?” Steve chuckled lamely, “We’re not really on talking terms today. I…don’t know if we ever will be.”
Namor turned to give Steve a long, rather intense look.
“Steven Rogers, I came here because this machine could…unleash much chaos on this planet. This is not a matter of being on talking terms. My people once created objects that controlled human history. Objects that need to be left in the past.” There was almost an urgency to his voice, “I cannot…I cannot be as involved as needed, that is why I have come to you.”
“Why?” Steve shrugged, “Even I’m not as strong as the man that killed several of these things on his own.”
“You are Captain Steven Rogers.” Namor looked taken aback as he spoke, “Even my people know of you. The weakling that struggled to walk. Yet, you still charged into war to serve and for duty. You survived a foolish experiment that would have killed many others. You use your gifts to fight a hidden society that stole our technology and defeated it. Your record for running into combat zones to drag the wounded out alive is apparently…commendable.” Namor stated stiffly, as if complementing a man caused him great discomfort, “You have led countless into victory. You survived being frozen for four decades. You have faced many of these creatures and you are still here, leading men and women into battle. You are still fighting. You are still the man that even my people viewed with interest. We do not take interest in humans often, Steven Rogers.”
Steve felt his cheeks heat up as the shyness bug bit him. It was admittedly very strange to have such compliments come from the same man that seemed to belittle literally everything that he walked past. Steve could not counter or be critical of his intent, however. As Steve looked into Namor’s eyes, he saw no dishonesty within them as he spoke. For the first time during the entire day, Steve felt slightly better.
“I’d still do a lot better with you helping.” Steve tried, and Namor began to pace as a distraction from the anxiety in his gut, “You took out two of them by yourself. You’re clearly a decent fighter, Namor. A hell of a lot more than you’re letting on. You’re also from the same culture that made this thing. You can help us.” Steve smiled.
Namor, for the briefest of moments, opened his mouth, prepared to accept such a generous compliment. His defeatist mindset caught him quickly, however. With shame and great regret, he closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I…cannot help you, not how you want. I must walk a very careful line. While I am…confident in your abilities, if I fail to stop the beast, it would cause ruin to my family’s legitimacy. I cannot afford them that, not with…other problems I have caused them.”
“This could be a way to undo those mistakes.” Steve pressed, “You can be the prince that closed the book on this whole thing.”
Namor’s eyes weakened and, for the first time since meeting him, Steve actually felt sorry for the Atlantean.
“I can’t undo the mistake of being mixed blooded.” Namor whispered.
His eyes sharpened immediately, and he was quick to change the topic. It was a topic that made Steve highly curious, however, and he placed it at the back of his mind for future pondering.
“My position as prince needs security. I cannot help you aside from the information that I have given you.”
“Can you at least tell me where it is?”
“No.” Namor shook his head, “If we are to be fortunate, the machine was destroyed with the collapse of the surface cities.”
Steve bit back the urge to sigh. That meant that there was still the issue of actually finding the device, something which Varnae was possibly very close to finding. A view that Namor may have also had, given that mere fact that he was even talking to Steve.
“You don’t believe that.” The soldier stated.
“I believe that the animal thinks that there’s enough of a chance for it to hunt with all of his resources. I do not want to take that chance.”
“I can’t stop Varnae alone.” Steve shrugged lamely once more, “The sorcerer that lives here and the Norse god are…Even Tony…None of us are talking. Some horrible things came to light, and we’re not really seeing eye to eye at the moment.”
Namor snorted and looked almost humoured. With his arms crossing, he strolled several steps closer to Steve, who almost stepped back as a result.
“You are a captain. I am a prince. We are very similar creatures. We lead, and rarely do we lead those that agree with, or even like, each other. That’s our burden. To bring others together when needed, even if they resent it. It’s what separates good leaders from the poor. Do not take me as a fool or someone that wastes time. I am speaking to you now because I saw how the others listen to you. An argument occurs, deal with it. Disloyalty festers, remove it. Hope fails, instil it. That is what leaders must do. And we are in need of leaders now. Steven Rogers, if the animal finds this artefact, we won’t have the luxury for your second-guessing. You are Captain America.” Namor turned and walked towards his sceptre, “Be a captain and lead your men.” He finished, pulling his sceptre from the wood.
Steve’s jaw tightened, not knowing how to entirely view the prince. His words were genuine, as had all of his words been. For such an arrogant man, there was a level of humanity that Steve could recognise when it came to the burdens of power, burdens that often kept Steve awake at night. He still didn’t particularly like the prince, but he didn’t entirely hate him either, even if he was just using Steve to avoid direct involvement with Varnae. Just what Namor’s situation was within his kingdom was something of great interest to Steve, even if he was probably never going to be in a position to ask about it. Perhaps, in his own setting, Namor was a decent prince or, at least, one that could be understood within a particular context.
Tapping the ground with his sceptre, Namor herded the puddles of water on the floor into rising into the air. Steve watched as it merged into a circle, one that suddenly vibrated and hissed. Namor turned and buffed out his chest once more. Steve inclined his head once more.
“Prince Namor.”
“Steven Rogers.” The prince noted, “Good luck with your hunt, for both of our sakes.”
Just as he neared the watery door, Namor stopped. There was a hopeful glint in his eye as he turned to Steve once more.
“Tell me. Is the green one within this house? I do wish to see how many different shades of green th-”
“Safe travels, Prince Namor.” Steve grunted.
Namor chuckled as if they had shared a gentle joke. His form leapt into the watery door a second later. As his body vanished, the water hissed and seemed to shrink. Inch by inch, the mass slowly disappeared until there was nothing left but air. Even the floor was completely dry once more.
Steve was not sure of what to think of the encounter. Namor was far tamer when he needed something, especially when it came to adding distance between himself and an issue. That much was clear, as was his fears about Varnae. If the arrogant man that had killed a High Vampire with only his sceptre was gravely concerned about facing Varnae, then he was someone not to be taken lightly. Not that Steve had ever taken Varnae lightly, especially after Strange’s recent tale. But the fact that even Namor shared Strange’s troublesome view was not met by Steve with a calm mind. It only meant that the giant orangutan was a threat that simply couldn’t be allowed to grow and grow. Steve had already lived through one occasion where someone power hungry gained too much influence and control. He had absolutely no desire to see it happen again.
He needed to stop it. Even if the machine didn’t survive, Namor was right. The risk couldn’t be taken, not with something that could alter the minds of others on such a large scale. Steve needed to stop him. Everyone needed to stop him, even if they hated each other. Unfortunately, war didn’t leave a lot of room for personal grievances, not with stakes so harsh. It was bigger than them and they were mature enough to know that. They had to be. If they weren’t, Steve would have to make them see reason. There simply wasn’t another option. A reluctance, no, a fear of failure swept Steve as he thought of the others. Strange and Thor would be the hardest to speak to, for their wounds were deep, possibly deeper than Steve could address. But a god and a sorcerer were allies that needed to be reformed. Steve was a man, a man that needed them at his side. He had led terrified men into battle, seeing the fear in their hearts. A fear that Steve had to strike at and replace with courage to run into bullets. His platoon may be retired or dead, but Steve remained, as did conflict.
Varnae’s words stuck him once more, making Steve feel cold and still. War and conflict, things that Steve supposedly lived for. Maybe it was true. Maybe he did need strife to have a purpose, but at least he was there to hold it back. If it was his path in life to make sure others didn’t need to suffer the horrors of war or battle, then there could be a level of duty within that. Perhaps not enjoyment or pride, but a sense of duty, nonetheless. Enough people had died in his lifetime due to the inaction of those that could act. Steve wouldn’t be one of them. If he could encourage or inspire the others, as he once had, then he could at least say he did something to help people. Varnae could not be allowed to find that machine, and the others needed to agree on that. Steve would make them agree on that, because he had to. Just like he had to lead so many men into the fires and ruined towns of Europe. He would lead them because he had to. He would lead them because he couldn’t afford not to.
With a stronger resolve biting back at his insecurities, the large soldier slowly walked to the nearest phone. It was a very old model, grooved and marble from a faux dark stone with a golden dial. Whilst wondering where Strange found such objects, Steve reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. While it was relatively bare, there was a business card within it. A clear, white card that detailed the information for a laundromat at the far northern end of the city. Holding it in one hand and dialling with the other, Steve’s heart suddenly raced within his chest. He was either being very foolish or thinking ahead. Either way, it would not be a pleasant phone call. As it rang in his ear, several lines were rehearsed and questions that Steve predicted to be asked were given quick answers within his head. Eventually, someone picked up.
“Mellman’s Laundromat, entirely clean or money back. How can we help?”
Steve inhaled, gathered his courage, and cleared his throat.
“I’m looking for Nicholas Fury. Tell him…Steve Rogers is on the line and that he wants to talk.”
***
A/N: Hi all! I hope that you’re well and enjoying this story.
I’m very sorry for the two-week delay, work has just been very hectic. I’ll try to get the last three or four chapters out quicker.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It will be the last relatively gloomy chapter, with exception to one scene next chapter. As we’re wrapping up, the next chapter will see them come to terms with the situation they’re in and the mistakes that they’ve all made. A lot of it will be Steve being Steve, and being the leader we all love him for. Plus, it will continue Varnae’s quest to find the Cul’nir.
Thank you for reading! If you have any suggestions (for either this fic or the sequel) or any feedback, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. I love seeing them and interacting with you guys, and hearing what you’d like to see. Otherwise, have a brilliant week!
Fact of the chapter: There’s an actual correlation between the colour of your hair and the amount of hair in total that you have. Redheads have the least amount of hair (90,000 in total on their head) whilst blondes have the most (150,000). Black and brunette haired people have between 100,000 t0 110,000. Odd and slightly terrifying…
Chapter 13: The Captain
Chapter Text
As he walked through the Sanctum Santorum, Steve adopted a hasty and near desperate pace. He did not know how long the group, or even humanity at large, would have with Varnae hunting such a tool. A deep, horrid paranoia struck at his mind. A fear of feeling his mind becoming numb, or heavy, or simply just blacking out as his thoughts were altered. An event that could come at any moment and could impact countless. An event that Steve, a man still recovering from the discovery of atomic weapons, could not fathom it or its scope. Whatever sense of hopelessness of doubt had faded, squashed by the realisation of just what they were up against. A weapon quiet unlike anything, even when considering the horrors of H.Y.D.R.A. and their ilk. It was all the more reason to stop Varnae, to challenge him, to rob him of a mad victory. Even if they couldn’t succeed, and Steve was well aware of their chances, they would need to try. They were soldiers, in a manner of speaking, and their loyalties still demanded that much. Even if it killed him, Steve needed to try. Try for he was amongst the few that could actually manage something. A few that he would greatly prefer to have at his side.
A series of lefts and the odd right led Steve to the first of his sullen housemates. A behemoth of a man in the kitchen, silent and still. An orange was within his hand, a hand so large that the fruit looked like a discoloured grape. His bearded face was as stoic as ever but, as he hunched over the sink, there were creased lines of deep thought decorating his ancient face. The fruit in his hand was untouched, and Steve was quick to ponder just how long the Aesir had been standing there, lost within his mind. Having such dark sins revealed would cut into anyone’s soul and make it hard to understand what to do next. It appeared that even gods were not immune to that.
Steve didn’t speak immediately. Rather, he gathered his thoughts the best that he could and doing the best to come up with a strong approach. Out of all within the group, only Strange would be harder to convince. The look of guilt and shame threatening to crawl over Thor’s face was a clear testimony to that. Steve had to try, however. Even if there was only a glimmer of success, that glimmer needed as many as possible involved.
“I felt,” Thor began with a much drier voice than usual, “another being enter this place. He smelt of the seas.”
“Namor.” Steve nodded, noticing that Thor still wasn’t turning to look at him, “He told me what Varnae’s looking for.”
“Hmm.” Thor nodded mildly, as if only half present within the conversation.
Steve took the apathy the best that he could and stepped closer, leaning near Thor’s side as he remained staring at the sink. As Steve spoke, it was with a strength and certainty that he had not used since leaving the muddy fields of Europe, since leaving his men and the battles that they would charge into. Some of which were fair prouder than the god before him, giving him some hope. Not much, but some.
“Thor, it’s a mind control device.” He watched to see Thor’s eyes focus a little bit more, “It’s Atlantean and could alter the ways that thousands, maybe millions, think. He wants something that can…Thor, he wants something that could control the countries and make them agree with whatever he wanted or believed.”
The god didn’t not say anything, but he didn’t exactly zone out either. The god held in a long clutch of air as he appeared to analyse Steve’s words closely. With more anxiety than he wanted to admit, Steve watched him and his reaction very closely. As the god exhaled, his face returned to a more apathetic shade.
“You must summon your fastest and mightiest defenders to challenge-”
He stopped as he felt Steve’s hand on his arm. For the first time since hearing him enter the kitchen, Thor turned to see Steve’s stony, harsh face peering into the depths of his eyes. It was a look quite unlike the often sympathetic and collected gesture that Steve carried around the Sanctum.
“I am. Thor, you are a god. We don’t have many of those kicking around here anymore.” Thor attempted to look away, but Steve was persistent enough to follow his head with his own, “You challenged him by yourself. You’ve thought dozens of his vampire soldiers. You are one of the greatest shots we have.”
A cynical chuckle, one eerily similar to Tony, floated from the god. He seemed almost disgusted in the comment.
“A compliment not worthy of me.” His jaw tightened for a moment before lazily raising a hand, “My own power fades, Steven Rogers, and for good cause. I am not worthy of it. Thunder.” He scoffed, “A marvel I have used only to quench my cruel need for violence. Mjolnir will not heed my calls. I am not a foe to Varnae. I am not a warrior. If I was, that would still matter little. I would not be the sword-brother that you would desire at your side. No. You need defenders, not murderers.”
Steve did not flinch, soften or look the slightest bit put off by the comments. His face was still as sharp as it had been, something which Thor found irritating for some reason. The only visible reaction to Thor’s defeated words was the tightening of Steve’s hand on Thor’s arm.
“You made mistakes. A lot. I’m not Asgardian, I’m not a god. I’m not going to pretend like I understand the severity of your mistakes. I’m not. You screwed up. Well done, you’re normal. You’re like mortals. You’re like the rest of us.”
Thor suddenly ripped his arm from Steve’s grip.
“The rest of you did not fail to prevent the near ruin of their people.”
“No, we have an arms dealer that’s a drunk, Hank being an addict, Strange starting this and causing his school to die, and me.” Steve lowered his eyes somewhat, “Someone that doesn’t know how to function anymore because I’m decades out of my depth. All of us are not great people. Not all of us are worthy men. None have done what you did, Thor. I’ll admit that. But you’re not the same person. You know that. That’s why you’re here.” Thor’s eyebrows knitted together, “Everything you’ve said about avoiding blood and needless violence. All of your attempts to help us as a team. You have wisdom.” A tiny smile threatened to form on Steve’s lips, “You help us as a team. You clearly care about humans, despite what you could do to them. You’re a god, after all. Outside of Strange, you’re the strongest here. Yet, you don’t abuse that or hold it over others, not from what I’ve seen. You’re not heartless, Thor. Not anymore.”
“That does not matt-”
“It does.” Steve grunted, “It means you fight for a different reason. You clearly don’t go looking for fights, you fight when you need to. When others can’t. You could have killed Jackie when you first met her. You didn’t. Why?”
Thor’s eyes turned harsh for the briefest of moment, as if resenting being challenged like this. They soon mellowed, and they broke away from Steve’s in near shame.
“I…She did not need to die. She surrendered.”
“So, you acknowledge needless death exists?”
Thor stared at Steve with a mixture of insult and deep regret. It was a severe and very uncomfortable look to receive, and one that Steve shifted lightly under.
“Yes.” The word was soft.
“Then you’ve grown. Look, I’m not asking you to fight for redemption. I can’t offer you that. I’m asking you to fight for those that can’t. For mortals. For humans. For people that have no idea who Varnae is.”
Thor said nothing. His eyes remained as bitter as they had, but they were struggling to keep contact with the intensity within Steve’s own eyes. Seeing such a look, the latter changed tactics.
“In Nordic stories, how many of them showed you defending humans?”
“Many lied.” Was the bitter response.
“I doubt that. I think you did protect people. You saved us once before from threats. Do it again.”
Thor’s head shifted side to side as he grimaced, as if in great pain. The orange in his hand was dropped to the sink and, with teeth bared, Thor raised both of his hands in exasperation. Out of context, the scene would resemble a great bear preparing to launch at some poor creature.
“I am not strong enough for Varnae. Understand this!” Cried Thor, “I am not the warrior that I was. My own weapon refuses to answer me. What type of world wants someone who prefers war to safety as their protector?”
Steve left the question sink in for the both of them before answering.
“Can you honestly tell me that you want war more than safety now?”
Thor sighed, took several steps back, and looked highly frustrated and almost helpless. It was strange seeing the confident god so…emotive. Seeing the question as pointless, Thor himself changed the topic.
“This is an impossible task. I was sent here to die. My own family gave me this punishment.”
“It’s probably impossible.” Steve nodded.
Thor’s eyes twitched slightly at the admission. Steve’s face lowered into a reflective expression, one of clear doubt. Yet, it was not an expression held long. As he took several steps forwards again, it hardened into a definite certainty that Thor knew himself to carry often when faced with a stubborn challenge.
“It’s going to be certainly impossible without you. Without the god of thunder at my side. I’m fighting Varnae either way, because I have to. Because it’s my duty, and you know what that means.” Thor sighed quietly, “You need to let go of this regret. It won’t just kill you, it’ll kill us all. I won’t say anything about Asgard, because I don’t know enough. I will say what I do know. I know you need to let go of this shame for fighting for yourself, and start fighting for others. It’s what you clearly want, and it’s what a prince should do. Fight for their people. Now, we might not be your people, but we need you, nonetheless. And you know that. Defend people like the god I read about and be like the prince that you clearly want to be. Let it go, and prove that you’re not the god that you hate. That you’re the person that makes people safe.”
It was the longest several seconds that Steve had felt. His heart thumped in his ears and his face was struggling to hide the nerves as he awaited Thor’s response. The god was stoic, so much so that he honestly resembled a perfect statue. It was so difficult to gauge the immortals mind or attempt to predict his words. Something that was horrid as the Earth risked being overrun. Seconds felt like hours, and when Thor spoke, Steve’s body was near trembling.
“I am sorry.” Was the weak reply, “I am not the god that you need. I cannot aid you.” Steve closed his eyes as Thor walked passed him, “I cannot aid anyone.”
As Thor muttered something about getting ale, Steve cupped his eyes. He allowed himself only a minute of panic and fear as one of the strongest of the group left. Time. Thor needed time to process his own guilt and the shock of his actions becoming public knowledge. Perhaps, Steve had rushed things or worded his case poorly. It did not matter. He had no time to second guess himself. That was a luxury that could wait until after Varnae was dealt with. If Thor did not want to help them, then Steve needed to work around that. Something that severely hinder them.
As his minute of miserable musing ended, Steve hastily rounded the kitchen and flicked through the others within his mind. For the sake of his own confidence and sanity, he needed at least one stable recruit, someone that would come to the party. Having a strong hope for who that was, Steve ran towards the staircase. He was not off to the best start, but there was an entire house full of powered individuals. Individuals who clearly had no interest in doing anything. The urgency and need for action were once more being tugged at by reconsideration and fear.
***
Having eventually found her room within the maze that was the Sanctum, Steve knocked several times. A loud set of barking indicated that he was at the right door, and he smiled tiredly as the door opened. Jen’s eyes were dark, droopy, her hair messy and showing signs of being tugged at, and her lip was puffy from biting it. She did her best to offer her own soft smile, but it was just as forced as Steve’s was. A smile that shifted into genuine amusement as he felt Maxxie sniff and lick his leg in greeting.
“She’s an affectionate one.” Jen chuckled lightly.
“I can see why you brought her.” Steve murmured as he picked the dog up.
Resting upon his arm, Maxxie was quick to snuggle into the man’s hard chest. Her eyes became heavy and dozy, now mirroring her owner’s.
“Namor visited.”
“Oh?” Jen wrinkled her nose, “Did he ask if I wanted to become his concubine?”
Deciding to omit Namor’s inquiry as to Jen’s whereabouts, Steve pressed on amicably.
“He recognised what Varnae’s looking for. It’s a device that can alter the minds of thousands to millions at a time.”
It took a second or two for the weight of that information to properly sink in. Jen’s lack of concern hastily shifted into concern and ended at horror as the scope of the issue finally hit her. While she always knew that the crisis at hand was severe, as vampires were not exactly common issues, actually knowing what Varnae was after brought a very different feeling to the situation. There was light within the tunnel, and Jen did not enjoy what she had found.
“Holy shit.” She murmured, stepping aside to allow Steve into her perfectly ordered and tidy room.
As she processed the hundreds of terrible scenarios that could form if Varnae found the device, Steve sat at the old desk chair. Waiting for Jen to speak first, the blonde busied himself with stroking Maxxie’s spine, only furthering the pug’s descent into sleep. At least someone in the house needed to sleep. As he enjoyed the sensation of the dog’s fur on his fingers, Steve noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Below her many pinned notes on disappearances and possible locations for the High Vampires, there was a package upon her desk. A thin box that looked as if it would hold a painting or some clothing. Upon the top of the package was a note, one with Janet’s handwriting on it.
“Did I miss your birthday?”
“Hmm?” Jen’s eyes widened as she noticed what Steve was nodding to, and she was quick to mumble something, “It’s, um, something…It’s not relevant now.” She dismissed with red cheeks, “What are we going to do, then? About Varnae? I take it Namor’s left? The prick.”
Jen’s questions tugged at Steve’s lips, almost forming a smile. She was still interested in helping. Relief set into his weary bones as his faith that at least one person would still be interested in fight was well founded. While it didn’t resolve everything, it did feel like a warm towel on tired and aching eyes.
“So, you’re still interested in stopping Varnae?”
Jen sighed and crossed her eyes. Her expression was almost reluctant, but not quite as cynical as that. It was clear that she was torn about something, yet not enough to make her apathetic to the situation at hand. Her face softened and she let out a deep sigh. She was not a bitter person, after all. If her life had taught her anything, an issue ignored was an issue allowed to grow and turn venomous.
“I’m a lawyer. I try to help people. If I can’t help people against Varnae in a courtroom, might as well try when green. It’s why I came here in the first place. Might as well try to do something. It’s pretty much the only use for being green.”
“Even with the others?”
Jen stroked her chin. Truth be told, she didn’t really know what to think about the others. From her training, she knew that details were almost entirely subjective and it was near impossible for all factors in an event or motivation to be presented, especially objectively. Thus, the professional within her was cautious about simply abandoning ship, especially with an issue such as Varnae at stake. Yet, the more emotional side of her was simply uncomfortable, especially around Thor. Everyone made mistakes, especially when it came to their ego. Her experiences at law school taught her that very well. Thus, while she did not agree with the horror in his consequences, Jen could not entirely judge Strange for his motivations. It was not as if he wanted to kill Varnae to take his power or try to rule the world. He wanted to save the very teachers that saved him and gave him a second chance. Thor, on the other hand, was far less charitable in his motivations. While it was clear that he was trying to be different, something just felt ill in her gut when it came to the possibly psychotic god.
“We need everyone.” Was the meek reply, “We can’t do this by ourselves. It’s simple math. As problematic as it is, we might need to ignore certain issues until after Varnae is handled.”
Steve’s lips did manage to curl into a tired smile at her words. Giving her an appreciative nod, Steve rose and gently placed a snoozing Maxxie upon Jen’s sheets.
“We need to act fast. Namor doesn’t know where the artefact is, or how close Varnae is to finding it. I don’t like that mystery.”
“Why’s he not helping?” Jen shrugged with severe annoyance, “Not an issue big enough for him?”
“He doesn’t want to be attached if we fail. Apparently, he has his own political issues that are more…pressing than this.”
“Right.” Jen grinned mockingly, “If he takes credit for this if we win, I’m hitting him.”
Steve smiled shortly. As stupid as the hopeful joke was, Jen’s investment and even optimism for victory was a deep relief. A welcomed change. Yet, just as he did with the fear caused from Thor’s rejection, Steve only allowed himself a minute or two of warm feelings.
“We need to get the others ready as soon as we can.” Steve stated, earning another nod from Jen, “We make a gameplan, then we hit them. Hard. Maybe if we can get enough of the more…positive people in agreement, the others will jump on board.” There was a momentary pause as Steve assessed who the easiest person to bring to the table was, “If you can have a chat with Pete, I’ll go talk to Jan…”
As he spoke, Jen’s mouth slid backwards in what could only be described as a skeletal smile. Her cheeks were suddenly very red, and her breathing was now coming out in short exhales. It all reminded Steve of a serial killer that was presented on the tapes that S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him in order to catch up on history.
“What’s…What have I missed?” Steve asked plainly.
Jen clicked her tongue, eyed the wall and clearly attempted to think of the best wording for something. Whatever it was, it took almost a whole minute before Jen knew how to present it. A minute of Steve hastily going through countless options and scenarios for issues or things gone wrong with Janet or Peter. With another severe grimace and clasping her hands together, Jen managed to speak.
“I think I’ll let you talk to Pete…as an older guy. Male…guidance and…stuff.” Jen nodded far too many times than what was needed, “We…had an…There was a miscommunication between the two parties.”
***
As Steve opened Peter’s door, he noticed just how clean that it was. There were no tossed clothes, or a set of books thrown on the desk, or any web cartridges sticking to the ceiling. It was a completely bare room, one with the bed even made. While Steve was initially impressed, his shoulders dropped as soon as he saw the suitcase resting at the base of the bed. Peter was standing near it, mumbling to himself as he shoved what appeared to be the new suit that Janet made for him into a small bag. The sight made Steve bite his lip somewhat, as he had been hoping that Peter’s optimism and personal determination would overcome previous revelations. If there was any hope to be found, it was that many of Steve’s previous set of troops had been roughly Peter’s age. Well, a little bit older, but hopefully still of a similar way of thinking.
“Heading out?” Steve asked with a smile.
Peter turned, gave Steve what could only be described as a defeated shrug, and resumed his work shoving the suit into a bag. His hair was messy, and he looked severely pale with a tightened face, a gift from sleeping so poorly. Steve took several steps into the room and leaned against the wall.
“Where you gonna head?”
“Aunt May’s still with her friend. Might see if I can break the spell on her.” Was the mumbled reply, “See how long I can keep her safe.”
“Fair enough.” Steve nodded thoughtfully, “Family’s important. Take it from someone that doesn’t have much left.”
Steve watched and waited to see Peter’s response. It didn’t take long for Peter to have one. The teen sighed in frustration and leaned into his bag, resting his arms onto it. After a moment of rubbing his face, he spoke through his hands.
“She’s the only one I have left. Parents passed when I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. They died in a plane crash, and May will die thanks to vampires. Bit of a…range of causes.”
“She won’t die.” Before a suddenly pissed off Peter could reply, Steve continued, “She will have her freewill taken, though. Namor appeared and mentioned that Varnae wants to find a mind control device. One that can control possibly millions at a time. That’s what we’re dealing with.”
Peter froze, much like Jen had. He was used to bizarre and selfish plots. Villains and criminals wanting to steal weapons, even biological, or wanting to assassinate high profile people within the city. He had even come across one lunatic’s plan to put a device that made earthquakes right in the centre of the city. Nothing in his young crime-fighting life even compared by any scale to a mind control device that could warp the minds of millions. Even the existence of vampires, which was such a massive change for the young man’s view on what existed within the world, paled to such technology. It made the teen suddenly feel very sick, like he would if he were to try and swim out an endless ocean before sinking from exhaustion.
“What…What are you g-going to do?”
The question was soft and illustrated by the fear in the young man’s eyes. While it was easy for some of the others to forgot Peter’s age as he punched a vampire or swung through the city, it was moments like these that honed just how little experience that he truly had. Steve sighed and crossed his arms.
“I’m going to find where Varnae is by tracking one of his High Vampires. I’m going to stop him.” Steve said firmly, “And I want you to help me. I know you’re scared, and upset at the others. Honestly, I am, too.” The information seemed to put the tensed Peter at ease somewhat, “But we don’t have the time to hate the others, not when Varnae’s getting closer to finding that thing.”
“Doctor Strange caused this.” Peter countered, “He literally started this.”
“And we need to end it. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of only blaming who caused it and doing nothing else. It doesn’t matter who started it, because we can end it. That might suck, and it might upset you, but that’s how issues are resolved. By caring enough about them to want to change things, even if it means working with the people who caused it. It’s like that in a lot of areas in life, Pete. A lot of life’s personal compromise for greater matters. It sucks and believe me, it makes me want to punch people sometimes. But, it’s life.”
Peter mulled over the advice for several seconds, his face a mixture of discomfort and clearly being out of his depth. Several emotions flicked through his eyes, distrust and annoyance being the most common. Eventually, the lanky teen rose to stand up straight. To Steve’s pride, Peter managed to look him straight in the eye.
“So, we work with Strange? And Thor? And Tony?”
“We work with people who have helped us get this far.” Steve’s voice became gentler, and he stepped off of the wall, “And we work with people that are trying to be better. None of us are perfect, Pete. You probably know more than most, but life’s not cut into good or bad. I’m sure some of the people you’ve faced as Spider-Man aren’t entirely evil. People we’re working with now aren’t entirely good. It’s about being able to understand people’s intentions, and whether they’re doing enough to reflect that.”
“And you think the others are?”
It wasn’t a spiteful or rude question. It was clearly a question aimed at reassuring Peter’s own views on the others. He did not want to view them as failures or as entirely bad people. In fact, the naïve part of him was still latching onto the fact that they were all heroes and trying to save the world. It was, however, a part of him that was shrinking and dying. While he was the youngest of the team, he was hardly stupid. He knew that people weren’t always how one wanted them to be. If there was any deep regret for Peter to feel, it was his mistake in perhaps forgetting that and focussing on the fact that they were trying to be heroes. Tony was Tony. Hank was Hank. Strange was Strange. Each were still like him, normal. There was no point in viewing them as different.
“I do. For now.”
“I just feel like an idiot.” Peter admitted, “It just…felt cool being a hero with everyone.”
“That’s the thing about heroes,” Steve winced playfully, “People forget they’re just us, with masks. We’re all flawed, and we all make stupid decisions. Bit like you with Jen.”
Peter cringed, so much so that his head almost twisted off. His soft face flushed as red as a tomato, and he suddenly became very invested in his bag once more. However, seeing that Steve was still standing there and clearly waiting for Peter to say something, Peter pushed his bag onto the desk and stared at his feet.
“Did she…I screwed up. I…I didn’t mean to upset her. I just…”
Peter shut down, shaking his head.
“Just what? Take your time.” Steve said gently.
It took Peter several moments to get over the initial embarrassment and shame of the memory, and some time more for actual words to form in his brain. Eventually, the teen looked up with a weak face and deeply saddened eyes.
“I thought she liked me.” Peter whispered, “We got on. Like the same stuff. Talked heaps. It was…It’s easy to talk to Jen. Compared to others.” He added quietly, “She was smiling and…” Peter closed his eyes, “I…I snuck into one of Doctor Strange’s storage…things. There was some dish that had green fire in it. It showed Jen and me…you know.”
Steve’s sympathetic expression hastily grew into concern. It was near instantaneous for him to link what Strange had described earlier to what Peter was now describing, and many questions about how organic Peter’s interest in Jen was formed within Steve. If the same cauldron had pressed Strange into starting the entire situation that was strangling them, then anything could be possible with what else it had been whispering to Peter.
“Pete, how many-”
“Two or three. Maybe four times.” He shrugged lamely, “It’s stupid, I know. I thought it was telling me the future, so…”
“You shouldn’t have snuck into that thing. We don’t even know what it does, Pete. It’s magic. The same thing that played with Strange.”
The teen sighed, once again looking highly distraught. Steve, seeing nothing but clear regret in the young man’s eyes, softened his tone as he changed topics.
“But it made you confident that she’d return your feelings?”
“Yeah.” Peter exhaled, “You know, saying it all out loud really hits home with how stupid I was. Complete idiot.” He muttered.
“You’re not an idiot, Pete.” Steve chuckled lightly, “You did what most people your age do. You did what I did when I was younger. You asked someone that you liked out. That’s…not bad by itself. But, she’s too old. Even though it’s only a few years, barely any, you’re still too young for someone outside of high school.” Peter closed his eyes and Steve tried to make his voice as comforting as possible, “I know that’s unfair. It’s not something that you can change, and it’s not something that Jen can change. It’s out of your hands. Sadly, that happens sometimes with people that we like. They move away, they’re already with another person, or they’re not in a position to date, or they’re too old. It can be a lot of things. That doesn’t make you a bad person and it certainly doesn’t make Jen a bad person.”
Peter’s jaw clenched at the last comment, his hand quick to massage the bridge of his nose.
“I know she’s not. It just…We get on well. Like, really well. It just…sucks.”
“I know, but it’s a relationship that can’t happen. Certainly from a legal perspective. As annoying as it is, I also think that you know that, too.” Steve waited for a moment, and soon saw a smallest of nods, “I mean, I’m pretty sure Jen would need to represent herself in court if she was caught.”
His attempt a humour was not received. Peter was too busy looking humiliated and being the greatest fool in the world, in his own opinion. It was a youthful scepticism that Steve himself knew very well from his own life.
“These things happen. You can’t have everyone that you want. It’s life and it’s growing up. Sadly, this probably won’t even be the only case of liking someone that isn’t available for you. But, you move on and continue living your life. Just be smart enough to know why some relationships can’t happen and why you need to respect that. Why you shouldn’t be dumb and think with your…hormones.”
There was a slight smile from Peter as he listened. As far as moral advice went, hearing it come from Steve and not Aunt May was a welcomed change of pace for the teen. His words felt less forced as he spoke, and it was oddly relaxing having another male to talk to with something as trivial and terrifying as dating.
“I know.” Peter sighed before muttering, “We should’ve met next year.”
“You’ll be in college.” Steve agreed, “And you’ll have plenty of people to date. Classmates, friends, clubs, and societies.”
Peter snorted dismissively, and soon lowered his eyes to the floor once more.
“Yeah, not a great track record with dating girls in classes.”
“Peter,” Steve started as he took some more steps forwards, “You’re Spider-Man. You fight crime to save people, and you’re currently working to save the world. You’re a genius, and a very hard worker. I think it’s…” Steve paused to find a more current phrase for Peter, “It’s how you groove with girls.”
“Um, that’s not really a term these days.” Peter managed a slightly bemused grin, despite himself.
“Great.” Grunted Steve, “Explains some looks I got at the store. Anyway, you’re a good person. You just need to be more confident in yourself and who you are. Once you’re calm in your own skin, people will be interested. It’s how I survived school and I was skinnier than you.”
“And…how does that happen? Being comfortable in my skin?”
“Exposure. Trust me. The more you talk to people, the less scary it is. When you’re not scared, people talk to you. There are more…science fiction fans out there than just Jen.”
“I know. It’s just…she’s one of the first to actually talk back about it. And…I thought it’d be nice to date someone for once. Pretty much everyone else is.” There was a lame shrug, “Just…not me.”
“Yeah, that can be tough. You feel like you’re not as good as everyone else, or that you can’t achieve what everyone else has.” Peter nodded sombrely, “Wanting to catch up can be tough, but that’s not the best reason to date someone. You should want to date someone because you’re interested, not peer pressure. If you only want someone because you want to complete the act of dating someone, what happens after you actually date them? You’ll get bored or disappointed, and then you’ll both be hurt. You need to be interested in them,” Steve smiled softly, “That tends to help you want to stay with them for a bit longer.”
Peter flushed red but found no lack of logic in Steve’s words. As much as he wanted to defuse the sense of being suffocated by shame or judgement, Peter was able to simply breathe the heated feeling out of his chest. The older man sounded right, at least on paper. It only added to Peter’s guilt of how he handled the situation, making his body sag even more. Memories of his conversation with Jen spun in his mind and with each rotation, there was a new sting to his chest. He could have worded things so much better. At bare minimum, he could have controlled himself like a normal person and not a complete jerk.
“It’s pretty much the only dating advice that I can give you.”
“It’s the only dating advice I’ve gotten.” Peter smiled dryly.
His face soon drooped into another look of uncertainty.
“Is…Jen upset with me?”
“She was hurt by how you left the conversation.” Steve admitted, “And regardless of you if you stay or leave, I’d like you to apologise to her.”
Peter nodded without consideration. There was nothing for him to consider, actually. Jen was a good person. A beautiful, smart, funny person that didn’t need a stubborn child snapping at her, not when the world was ending. Well, when it was about to be controlled by a monkey with fangs.
“I will.” Peter cleared his throat, “I’ll…I’ll see her now.”
“Good.” Steve said and, without anything else said, turned towards the door.
“Wait. You’re not…You’re not going to ask if I’m staying or leaving?”
Steve paused by the door and turned to look at the teen. A teen who Steve still had complete faith in, especially when it came to doing the right thing. His calm, albeit saddened, handling of what Steve had just said was a sign of just that.
“You’re almost an adult. It’s your choice and I trust you to think it over, and to decide what you want to do. Not us, but you. Either way, you’re a good kid, and I’m proud of what you’ve already done for people. I mean that, Spider-Man.” Steve smiled gently, “I’ll see you around. And get some sleep. We all need it.”
With a polite nod of farewell, Steve left Peter’s room. The teen was left staring at the open door, his lip gaped a tad as he registered the conversation and lack of expected resolution. There was still the urge to run. His aunt could possibly be under attack already, especially if someone had gotten his scent. He could protect her, at least for a time, even without the shady people that he surrounded himself with. Yet, he knew that he couldn’t protect her forever. The mere fact that he was dealing with a mind-bending machine was proof of that, and Peter knew that even he had his limitations. He couldn’t protect her forever, nor could he protect others if he just focussed on her. There was a completely new, very bizarre feeling that overcame him. A desire to return to simple threats, like bombs or people throwing explosive pumpkins. He really was small-time compared to the universe as a whole. Someone who would unfortunately need to stand his ground if things were to resume being simple and for the pumpkin bombs to return to being his main threat.
With a frustrated sigh, he turned and threw his bag onto his bed. He didn’t allow himself to think, for if he did, his nervousness would talk him out of walking towards Jen’s room. As much as he felt his feet become heavy, his conscious was heavier. She was a good person and, if he were to stay and help Steve, they would need to be on somewhat amicable terms.
***
“Can you see down here?” Steve asked as peered into the room.
Given a comment that Jen had made, the soldier was led to assume that he had entered Jackie’s room. It was a well-hidden area, towards what Steve guessed was a basement within the Sanctum. Well, a basement of sorts. It was a set of doors and rooms with fewer lights, moulder carpets and paintings with moving eyes. Eyes that were highly judgemental, as well. As Steve had opened the door that Jen described, he saw that it was pitch black to such an extent that his eyes were struggling to adjust. Slowly coming to believe that the room was empty, he took several cautious steps into the room and swept the floor several times with his leg to make sure that nothing was hiding in front of him. He was almost about to leave when his foot suddenly hit something soft, something that moved in reaction.
“Your vision is amazing.” Steve observed as he sat as carefully as he could in the shadows.
Wearing a blindfold would reveal more light than this room was, and it made Steve wonder if Strange had begun teaching her magic. A more likely possibility was that she had taken the unnaturally dark room as her abode. It was so quiet in the room, without a single piece of background vibration or movement to be heard. Well, until there was a mildly annoyed noise across from him.
“Please leave.” Was the soft response.
“I want to.” Steve said before resting against what he hoped was a normal, safe bedframe, “I want your help first, if possible? We, uh, are in a worse situation than we thought.” He paused, waiting to see if Jackie would intervene, “Namor visited.” No comment was made, “Varnae is looking for an Atlantean artefact that can control the minds of millions. He wants something to brainwash people. A lot of people.”
Jackie didn’t say anything, and it was impossible to tell if she was even listening to him at that point. Even after almost two minutes in the room, Steve’s eyes simply registered the colour black, without any distinctions or shades within it. Steve pressed on, as hopeful as ever.
“Did anyone ever mention anything like that? When you were with the other vampires.”
There was no answer. Steve slid his legs out and got comfy, guessing that he would be sitting for a while. He didn’t mind, however. He was happy to sit as long as needed.
“Did they mention digging locations? I know you’ve already mentioned this, but it’s not a bad thing to double check.”
Silence. He waited as long as he could for answers, but it became clear that none would come. He leaned further on the bedframe, thinking to himself. Staring into the darkness, Steve said the first thing that came into his mind as he tried to understand what Jackie was possibly going through, what could be driving her misery forwards more than anything.
“You want to kill Strange, don’t you?”
He heard it. The smallest intake of sharp breathing from across from him. Steve nodded in understanding.
“I know. I know the look in someone’s eyes when they want to kill. You had it when you were choking him.” Steve said in an oddly light tone, “Used to see in the war. It’s a horrible look, but sometimes we ne-”
“I am,” A choked voice whispered, “a vampire because of him. My life is gone. My family. My friends. My life. Everything. Because of that man.” She hissed, “You shouldn’t have stopped me. There are more like me. A lot more like me because of him. People that need to be avenged.”
“And you’re willing to be a murderer for that?”
“Don’t be a daft hypocrite. You’ve killed.” Jackie shot back.
“I’ve killed, not murdered. There’s a difference.”
“Ah, war. A fake set of rules and circumstances to allow people to butcher others. Okay then, soldier boy. We’re in a war now, aren’t we? There are armies, leaders, nations involved, even Captain America. Why don’t traitors get executed in this war?”
“That’s not our decision to make. Even if it was, don’t act like it wouldn’t change you. Ask any soldier. Training’s a lot better now, and they do teach you to handle what killing does to you,” Steve tapped his temple, “but still paints you. It painted me, right to this day. You think this is a war? Ask soldiers how lightly they take killing, and then ask if you can execute Strange.”
There was a long pause in the darkness as an emotionally overwhelmed Jackie struggled with the logic that Steve presented. Her mind was not in the place for a rational argument, and she did not accept the psychological ramifications of what she was suggesting. In her heart, there was only the desire to kill the man that had ruined her life in such a horrific way. A desire wrapped in such misery and pain that she nuzzled her kneels and sniffed as softly as she could. A warmth spread across her shoulders, and she only absently became aware that someone’s arm was pulling her into a sideways hug. As soon as she was fully understanding of what was happening, her head rolled onto Steve’s chest. Her body shook as the sobbing renewed for the fourth time that day. Steve said nothing, idly stroking her back as she quivered and cried for some time. His distain for Varnae and even for Strange’s mistakes felt all the more real and tangible as he physically held the consequences of their actions. It only reinforced the desperate desire that the man held for needing to stop the creature. No one else deserved such a long-term and severe pain in life.
“Why…Why are we doing this?” Steve turned to look down at Jackie, “What’s the point? Varnae is stronger than a Norse god. He killed the wizards. He’ll kill us, too.”
“Maybe.” Steve sighed, still holding her close, “The alternative is to do nothing.” He shrugged, “I don’t think that sounds better.”
Jackie closed her eyes and rested on Steve’s chest for several minutes. Her mind and heart spun in so many directions that it made her feel sick. Sadness, regret, rage, fear. She felt it all, making her heart feel so heavy and suffocated. So much so that she wanted to claw it out to release the pressure in her chest. Instead, she simply sighed as she slowly calmed herself down.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
“He’s stronger.”
“Possibly.” As he spoke, he turned and leaned forwards to look Jackie in the eye the best that he could in the darkness, “But I need to make sure no one else turns into a vampire. It might be too late for you, and I’m so sorry. I really am, Jackie. But it’s not too late for a hell of a lot of others that might be in your shoes soon. That’s why I’m about to be an idiot.”
Jackie stared at him, trying her best to understand his motivations and if there were any lies within them. His words were in earnest, and his eyes showed only honesty and strength that Jackie found oddly reassuring. He truly was a stubborn man. An idiot, but one that didn’t have a cowardly or cruel bone in his body, unlike so many she’d met in her life. A dying breed, that was what Steve Rogers was. Eventually, she exhaled and shook her head.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I know.” He repeated, “I’m not going to ask you to help confront Varnae. I just need any information they may given you or said or-”
“They said nothing. We were overseen by lower management at best. They’re in the dark as much as us.”
“Well, that’s good, at least.” Steve stated calmly as he shifted, “Means he doesn’t trust a lot of his creations.”
Rising to his feet, he gave Jackie as sympathetic a smile as he could.
“I know you hate Strange, and frankly, you honestly have every right to. But he should be the person that you hate the second to most. There’s still Varnae, the creature that caused this.”
“Strange caused this.” Jackie said in a soft, yet sour, tone.
“He made mistakes and played into his ego. Because of that, you and hundreds of others have suffered. He’s still done his best to help us. Does he honestly look like a man that isn’t horribly ashamed of himself, after taking you in and helping us?”
“That means nothing compared to what he did. The fact that I’m in the same bu-”
“Probably.” Steve nodded, “But are you willing to hate him more than Varnae?”
Jackie squinted at him, looking dumbstruck by the ridiculous question. Yes, Varnae was the higher evil in the situation. Jackie knew that Strange wasn’t trying to take over the world, that he didn’t bite her and directly turn her, or that he didn’t personally murder hundreds. That did not, however, change the fact that he was the catalyst for all such events, intentions irrelevant. He was still the man that welcomed the damn ape into their lives. That was not something to be overlooked.
“I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m just suggesting that there’s one person who made a horrible mistake by accident and is trying to fix it, and there’s one person who’s making a horrible mistake with intention to. Just think about it.”
Believing her comment about not knowing anything of the device, Steve turned towards the door. Much like Thor, Jackie would need time more than anything. Having her life taken from her and having the same man who housed her being responsible indirectly was not something to get over within a day. She was young and needed breathing space, regardless of what she knew about Varnae’s plans. He just hoped that time healed her, and didn’t allow the foul feelings to fester. He’d seen that enough in Tony already, and Jackie didn’t deserve to become like that.
As he closed the door behind him, he turned to see Jackie standing in front of him. A raggy, tear-stained girl with messy red hair and what appeared to be torn sleeves. One that was looking at him with scorn and malice. Strange’s revelation truly had sunk deep into her mind. For the briefest of moments, Steve guessed that she would attack him. Her hunched posture and arms hanging loosely by her side resembled nothing less than a cornered animal. Before Steve could say anything, a powerful finger was pressed to his chest.
“Strange deserves his hands rebroken.” Her words were punctuated with a sniffle, “And when this is done, I and everyone who was turned deserves justice. Do you understand me? Strange did this.”
Steve eyed her determination with caution. While he did not approve of the clear hatred in her voice and the vengeance she craved, he did understand it. There would be a horrible conversation between the vampire and the sorcerer in the future, but now was not the time. Blame and responsibility would need to wait until after Varnae was dealt with. He also didn’t want to be thrown into the wall should he upset her.
“I’ll make sure that you…We’ll get there later, okay?” Steve stated carefully, “You don’t need to do anything, and I mean that. Out of everyone, you’ve been through the wor-”
“Exactly.” Jackie stepped back and nodded stiffly, “And no one else should have to go through what Strange made me. No one else becomes a vampire, okay?” Jackie snapped, her eyes almost manic with ferocity.
Steve exhaled, seeing not much wiggle room in the terms that she was setting. He wouldn’t let her do something she’d regret, he knew that much. It was just a matter of making sure that she didn’t do anything stupid before she had time to process her grief. A matter that was not going to be an easy task, especially given her abilities and the pain cutting through her veins.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Jackie exhaled and wiped her wet eyes, “So…What the hell is this mind control thing?”
***
“We’re screwed.” Jackie stated for the third time.
Steve’s mouth formed a tight line as they walked into the main lounge room of the Sanctum. Having calmed down somewhat, Jackie’s reaction to the situation at hand was more reserved than the others. That was, however, until Steve mentioned Thor’s departure from the Sanctum and Peter’s response to aiding still being undecided. While it was hopeful, possibly likely, that the teen would help, Thor was another case entirely.
“We have other options.” Steve retorted calmly.
“He’s the god of thunder. He’s the strongest person here.”
“Yeah, well, we still need to convince the…Convince the…”
The pair stopped in their tracks as they walked past the hallway to the main entrance. The flying cloak that shielded Peter from Varnae was huffing about, swaying by the main door in what appeared to an anxious pace. The sound of the pair walking seemed to be enough to draw the attention of the magic garment, for it swiftly launched itself at Steve. The soldier almost stepped back as his hand was wrapped up and tugged like a mother would to a lazy child. With a curious look at a distrusting Jackie, Steve soon found himself being positioned at the front door. He turned to the magical item, seeing it point a tip of its base to the door several times. Steve didn’t need a clearer hint.
The cool evening air struck Steve quickly, as did the sight of streetlamps that weren’t filled with green flames. They were yellow, electric and a sign of a normal life that Steve had come to forget whilst living in the bizarre, out of world Sanctum. The lights showed a very empty street, with only the odd parked car. There was not a single person on the street, aside from the tall, dark individual standing directly in front of Steve. A man that Steve had not seen in weeks, not since escaping the apartment that he had been placed in. A man that was staring at Steve with an intensity that Thor would be proud to possess. As soon as Fury was registered, Steve instinctively eyed the odd parked car or two, as well as the windows in the buildings nearby. Anything that looked the slightest out of setting. There was not a single doubt that there was at least three guns currently aimed at the super soldier.
“Nice building.” Fury stated in a cool tone, “What’s the rent like?”
“Cheap. Reminds me of the old days.”
“Yeah?” Fury offered a false smile, “Good to know some places are still affordable. Must be worth putting yourself firmly on my ‘annoying as hell’ list. The first non-terrorist on that list. Congrats.”
Steve was quiet as he assessed his options. Fury’s hands were relaxed and at his sides, away from any possible guns that Steve could see. Yet, that meant little when snipers could take him out at any moment. He had yet to be shot or tranquilised, meaning that there was some desire from Fury to talk, if only to stall as his men positioned themselves for a cleaner shot.
“Want some coffee?” Steve asked in a light tone.
Fury scrutinised him carefully, before slowly dragging his eye to the antique house behind the blonde. He seemed just as curious about the condition of the building as he did about the asset that was living within it.
“Been a long night. I’d love some.”
With a polite nod, Steve stepped aside and allowed Fury to enter. Before he closed the building, he eyed the building across from him one more time. For the briefest of seconds, he noticed someone kneeling by a curtain on the fifth floor. Knowing what he did about Fury, Steve guessed that he only had several minutes before the Sanctum was charged by S.H.I.E.L.D., or as much as they could against a magical building. As the pair walked into the living room, Steve noticed that the cloak was handing on a frame, only waving when it was clear that Fury’s head was turned. The agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. was busy, his eye taking in every detail that he could whilst trying to put together just what type of place was housing a rogue super soldier. As he passed Jackie, the redhead stiffened slightly under the intense gaze that the tall man offered.
“And who are you? The subletter?”
“We need to talk.” Steve said as he gestured to a seat.
Jackie, grateful that the attention was suddenly off of her, was quick to sit at the furthest seat away from the pair. She did not know the man that stood beside Steve, but he was confident enough to stare down Captain America of all people. A man of flesh and blood, there was no arrogance or smugness in the way that he held himself. It was just…knowledge of what he knew that he was capable of, and that was the exact same aura that Varnae possessed. A feeling of absolute that pushed Jackie all the more further from the man.
“We damn well do.” Fury almost shouted, “Escaping watch. Robbing a storage facility. Being seen in Europe like you’re on a damn holiday. Making me look like a damn fool with America’s own super soldier. You’re lucky we’re even talking.”
“I know,” Steve acknowledged as he straightened, looking as if he were reporting to his sergeant, “We have a situation. I know what’s behind the disappearances and killings, sir. If I may?”
Fury, seeing that Steve would begin without clear permission, reluctantly nodded. Steve spoke as directly as he could. Fury, on his part, remained perfectly silent and still. His eye never left Steve, nor did his face betray any emotion or mental reaction to what he was hearing. Not as he heard about vampires, men that could shrink, a giant ape, and a living god. Not as he heard about Varnae’s machine, or the existence of Atlantis. Not even the existence of magic seemed to phase agent, as he remained just as collected. As Steve finished his recollection of the past several weeks, he waited but did not attempt to even guess what Fury was thinking. He had given up on such endeavours shortly after first meeting the spy.
Fury turned to look at Jackie, who seemed uncomfortable that she had not been forgotten about like she had desired. Shrinking in her seat, she made no comment or action that clearly supported Steve’s story. Eventually, Fury turned back to the soldier and pushed his head forwards a tad more than usual.
“Has he showed any signs of being overwhelmed by any stimuli?”
It took Jackie an extra second to realise that the question was aimed at her. With a mild shiver, the girl attempted to understand the meaning of such a sudden question. Steve, on the other hand, did not need as long. He was quick to guess what interpretation Fury had landed on.
“This isn’t trauma.” Was the firm, nearly insulted response.
Fury didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to look Jackie directly in the eye, clearly wanting her own assessment of Steve Rogers. Looking back to the man that had been walking her through her latest meltdown, Jackie opened her mouth but found no clear way of articulating Steve’s point without looking as mental as he did. It didn’t help that the darker man’s face was hardening. She couldn’t muster any words of wisdom, so she soon gave up.
Fury felt the sensation of being pushed before he understood that he was in a slightly different position. He was clearly an extra inch or so away from Steve, and his coat was swaying gently. The redhead woman was now at Steve’s side, as though she was a certain silver-haired mutant that Fury had come to loathe with his irritating personality. His eye froze on her open palm. A palm that was presenting Fury’s gun to him. A gun that was crushed moments later as if it were dried and hollow wood. Dropping the ruined weapon to the ground, the woman gestured to her mouth and, with a clearly self-conscious and sickened expression, bared her teeth to fury. Four unusually sharp canines slid further along, doubling their size into fangs. If that didn’t further their point, the cloak that was almost nervous drifting to their side was. A piece of fabric that waved with a lowered front, as if trying to bow. Fury did not visibly react, but he was grateful that his hand was hidden in his pocket as he clenched it into a fist.
“I’m not lying,” Steve said in earnest, “About any of this. We’re in a lot of danger if Varnae finds this thing.”
Fury did not allow himself any chance of expression, even as he mind sorted through the details of the story as finely as he could. It was difficult, however, with a seemingly magic cloak and green flames spread out before him.
“A giant ape.” Fury commented, almost to himself, “A vampire ape. Looking for a mind control device made by Atlantis, which still exists under the seas.”
“That’s…correct.” Steve nodded, “We need to find him. We have some leads.”
Steve pulled out his pocket journal, flicked through it and pulled three pages from it. Fury took them and squinted at the dozen or so names upon it.
“His lieutenants. We need locations, associates. Anything.”
“Dangerous.” Jackie whispered, her eyes taut and drifting off into horrid memories.
Fury eyed the list carefully before looking back at Steve. There was determination in those perfect eyes, as well as a clear desire for Fury to believe him. The agent hid the notes within his coat and rubbed his jaw, finally allowing himself to show a glimmer of exasperation and tiredness.
“Vampires.” He muttered, “Fucking vampires. Beats our theory about aliens.”
Steve squinted slightly, trying to see whether Fury and his smooth voice was lying or mocking him. It was the mild silence that followed and the expectant look on Fury’s face that gave the soldier the benefit of the doubt.
“So, you did look into the disappearances.”
“Of course. When Captain America mentions something like this, even we look.” Fury snorted, and Steve still couldn’t tell if it were sarcasm or not, “The disappearances are erratic. It’s not murderers. We thought a cult, but that tends not to explain the gruesome bodies. The Brotherhood of Mutants aren’t active, so it wasn’t them.”
“Aliens?” Jackie whispered softly in disbelief.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s dealt with weirder.” Fury nodded, “Vampires.”
“If he were here, I’d show you the Norse god.”
“No, we’ve seen him.” Fury grunted and Steve’s face creased, “The alien theory did have some evidence, like a freaking man with a hammer being photographed falling from the sky in Norway.”
Fury suddenly sighed, his expression turning into clear annoyance. He closed the gap between he and Rogers, the two men nearly eye to eye. Steve felt his heartbeat quicken under such interrogation.
“Why should I trust any of this?” Fury asked in a hushed tone, “The girl could be a mutant and the rug could be on strings.”
“Have I ever given you a reason to think I’m untrustworthy?”
“You broke out of your overpriced apartment.” Fury answered through gritted teeth.
Steve didn’t flinch or look the least bit sheepish, but inclined his head in respect.
“You tried to stop me from helping people. I don’t apologise for doing what I was made for, sir.”
There was a gentle, honest smile growing on Steve’s lips, one that made Fury roll his eye. Subconsciously stroking the notes through his coat, Fury gave one last look at Jackie and the cloak that was floating closely behind her. A cloak that drew his attention to the other ornaments, decorations and aesthetic choices that were at least a century behind the times. It was a strange building, indeed. One that Fury had great intention to return to, regardless of the situation with a certain soldier. A soldier that had given the man much to think about, and even more to investigate with his resources. Sleep was not likely for a long while yet. Without prompting, the agent walked towards the door, leaving the two others standing aimlessly in the loungeroom.
“I’ll be in contact soon. I suggest not leaving the house. I don’t want another damn chase across the damn planet.”
“Will you at least look into the names?” Steve called, his voice firm.
Fury said nothing, nor did he give any sign of registering the question. With a surprising need of force, as if the house was trying keep in locked in, the agent was finally able to rip the door open. He closed it, not so much as looking back at the pair or offering any form of goodbye. Whether it was a positive or negative sign was not known to either party and they stood for several more seconds. After many seconds of processing passed, it was Jackie’s croaking voice that spoke first.
“Who was that?”
***
Tony’s frantic muttering could be heard well through the door into makeshift workshop. As Steve opened the door, his stomach dropped as he saw countless tools and boxes thrown throughout floor. It looked like a mechanic’s nightmare, and each step had to be taken with extreme care. The bench that Tony was leaning on was decorated with many more tools, but also several entirely empty glass bottles. The sweating, cursing man was pulling each drawer to the bench open, looking through them again and again. He clearly could not find what he was looking for, and the swearing grew louder. His hair and thick beard were unkempt and oily, and his skin was stained with several different colours. Several metres behind him stood something colossal and hidden behind a tarp. Whatever it was, it was being supported by several chains attached to the ceiling. It was only the sound of his own name that drew Steve away from questioning how Tony had convinced Strange to make such alterations to how magical home.
“Rogers. Still here?” Tony scoffed darkly before lowering his eyes and leaning on the bench, “Of course you’re still here.” The man hissed quietly.
“You don’t look well.” Steve observed in a careful tone.
Tony chuckled, turning his head back at Steve. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, but they were dilated and moving very quickly. His lips were cracked and by the sound of his voice, he was very dehydrated. It all made Steve remind himself of the need for patience. Tony was not easy to talk to in the best of states and, despite all of his problems, he was someone that could genuinely aid the situation that they were in. It was just a matter of convincing him of that, as well as Steve reminding himself of such a fact as he smelled the sharp odour of whiskey.
“Been a long night.” Was the terse response, “A long, interesting night. Lots of fun stories.”
“Namor visited.” Steve cut in, offering no room for expanding complaints, “Varnae’s looking for a device that can control millions. It changes the way people think, potentially.”
“Potentially? Sounds dangerous.” Tony mocked, and he resumed his search for something.
Steve watched as the inventor begin to stare at the ground, his eyes wide and desperate. It didn’t take Steve too long to guess what it was that made Tony so keen to find. Even his hands were moving slightly, as if he trying to catch the air between himself and ground. As Steve watched, a wave of frustration flooded him. If the man could just stop drinking and focus for a single evening, the world would be a far better place.
“Tony. Tony.” Steve added with a stronger tone, “I need you to focus, just for a minute. We’re in a lot of tro…”
Steve drifted off as Tony’s search had led him to ripping off the tarp. A metal set of armour, coloured a perfect silver with circular hole in the chest was revealed. Unlike the previous version that was brought in, this set was skinner, leaner and looked far less troublesome to move in. Steve’s lips gaped slightly as he took in the brilliance of the technology, very aware once again of just how capable Tony really was. It was something out of an old pulp adventure book, yet Tony had the brilliance to actually bring into the real world. Thor’s lightning was one thing, but that was magic. For Steve, there was something uniquely incredible about such a display coming from a mere human’s mind.
“This is incredible.” The blonde admitted, “How long did this…”
Tony’s mouth opened, a snarky retort ready. Yet, as he saw the genuineness of Steve’s face and the look of wonder in his eyes, Tony couldn’t bring himself to insult the man. Instead, he lowered his head somewhat and became rather meek.
“The frame took a few weeks. It’s the original, I just made some alterations. Mainly to make it…easier to walk in.” Tony sighed, and he felt his chest tighten with insecurity, “Not that it matters.” His tone grew hot once more, “I’m heading off soon. Soon as Jarvis gets back with the truck. Not staying around for this shit show. Not anymore.”
The wonder sunk away from Steve’s eyes as he aimed them towards Tony. The inventor’s face was wrinkled in distain, and he slumped against his bench.
“Tony, Varnae wants to possibly control our freedom and values.”
“You’re saying ‘probably’ and ‘possibly’ a lot.” Tony shrugged, “You don’t know a lot for certain, do you?”
“Are you okay taking a chance on something like this?”
“It’s better than taking a chance on Strange.”
There was a moment of silence as the two stared at each other. While Tony did so in challenge, Steve only looked as if he were trying to understand the nature of Tony’s anger. That was not an easy task, however. Tony was never one to act with a natural flow and was erratic, even to people who he was working with. He was not, however, a heartless person and it was clear to Steve that a foulness had been conceived from Strange’s story. One that bit at Tony’s faith in what everyone was trying to do.
“Strange…has to answer for things. But regardless of that, there are still people that we need to help, Tony. There’s a lot of people at risk. I wasn’t lying about the reach of this thing.”
As Steve spoke, Tony began to look away and tap his fingers along his arms in an attempt to handle the multitude of emotional reactions that he was feeling. It had been a long night, one filled with disappointments and the sharp feeling of idiocy. He did not need to be led on another pointless chase only to be burned again, even if it was Captain America. They were going to die. There was no point in putting on different faces and pretending otherwise.
“Tony, we need to stop Varnae. We can’t do this without everyone’s help.”
“Help?” Tony scoffed, “Sorry, boy scout, but we’re hardly the A-Team here. We’ve got a murderous god, a drug addict, a teen, a wizard that started this, a sobbing vampire, and a lawyer with a great rack. We’re not you.” Tony continued with a louder voice as he saw Steve attempt to interrupt, “Stop trying to turn us into you. We’re not soldiers, we’re not national heroes. We’re fuck ups, and we’re already fucked. Varnae’s fucked us. We’ve fucked us. Everyone’s fucked us. You want us to help?” Tony nodded mockingly, “Good fucking luck with that. We couldn’t help a rat escape a trap.”
Steve’s initial response was to question Tony’s sobriety. The swaying had begun, though Tony was doing his best to hide it. He was also doing a commendable effort in containing the slurring of his speech, though his ‘f’s were still a weak spot. As soon as he stopped speaking, the anger in his eyes shifted into clear self-distain as they lowered to stare at the floor. It convinced Steve to allowed Tony a few moments to cool off before continuing. Taking a step to the side, the soldier once more turned to the armour beside them.
“That…is honestly incredible.” Steve grinned, while Tony rolled his eyes, “It is.” Steve paused and his voice suddenly lowered considerably, “You know, one of the first things that the government showed me when I woke up was the history reel about the end of the war. Hiroshima and Nagasaki. An entire city gone in a second.” Tony’s eyes sharpened into a foul, rageful look, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt, “I thought that was the most powerful thing that I could see, and it was a weapon for killing hundreds of thousands.” Steve sighed but turned to point to Tony’s chest, “Then I see that. Clean, limitless power. Made by someone who inherited a weapons company. And what do you use that energy for? That. Something built to save people from vampires.” Steve’s smile shifted into a stronger, more firm expression, “Cut the crap, Tony. You can help us, because you have before. And you want to.”
“Just shut the fuck up.” Tony mouthed, his arm swiping aimlessly in front of him.
“Why? Is admitting that you can help such a bad thing to you?”
Tony looked sickened, though whether it was the alcohol in his system or what Steve was saying made it hard to tell. His eye contact was poor, and sweat was clinging to body heavily now. The words rung in his mind, however, and they pressed a horrifically sensitive part of his chest.
“Enough with the saving thing. We’re not you.” Tony repeated in a spiteful tone, “My family’s blood is lined with bullets, Rogers. Name a war, and we supplied more bombs than anyone else. That’s all we do. Bombs.”
“You’re not your family, and this isn’t Vietnam.” Steve said simply and Tony’s eyes narrowed into a glare, “I can lie and blame you for their actions, but we’d be wasting time and lying. The truth is that I don’t care about your family’s history, I care about you and what our current present is. A situation that isn’t great, Tony. We’re up against a creature that wa…”
The tone was firm, firm enough for Tony to consider biting back at him. But it was growing considerably difficult for Tony to register the nuances of Steve’s argument. The alcohol was slowly starting to hit him, filling his body with a pleasant warmth that distracted him from his need to listen to details. It was only the silence that indicated that Steve had actually finished talking, leaving Tony to hastily reverse engineer what had been said. It took quite the effort. So much so that it became clear to Steve that Tony was struggling, particularly thanks to the lack of retorts. The rage in Tony’s eyes had once again mellowed into a bitterness that honestly saddened Steve. It was fierce, violent glint in the inventor’s eyes, all wrapped a thick sadness that was clearly eating at the man. Taking a step closer and doing his best to achieve eye contact with the slouching man, Steve continued.
“Whatever’s eating you, no matter how heavy it is, you need to let it go. It’s ruining you.” Tony’s glare returned, but it was weak and unfocussed, “If you don’t, then people are going to die. You can help. You already have. You’ve done brilliantly, and I mean that. Let it go.” Steve whispered.
For the briefest of moments, Steve felt as if he found Tony’s humanity. The glare eased yet again, his eyes becoming vulnerable and weak, his mouth gaping just a little. His face was not that of an angry man, but one that had swiftly become torn between several very visceral memories. He looked lost, if nothing else. For a time, Steve questioned if Tony still recognised that there was another man nearby. It was a brief time. Soft eyes narrowed once more into loathing. His mouth curled into a cruel smile. There was no warmth to be found within one of the smartest men Steve had ever met.
“What makes you so high and mighty? So much better than me? You’re just…a chapter behind everyone else. A soldier that’s killed more than the rest. Maybe not Thor.” Tony chuckled darkly, his eyes turned to look directly at Steve, “You think you’re better than me?”
“No, Tony, I-”
“I’m not the one that hid in the ice when his country needed him.”
If Tony showed any regret over the comment, he hid it well. He did not, however, hide the fear that blossomed as Steve leaned within an inch of his face, his enormous hand on his collar. The glare upon the typically calm man’s face was enough to sober the inventor up like a freezing water. The flush of heat on Steve’s chest dragged itself across his chest like rough sand, cutting across any chance of filtering himself as the pain of all that he had slept through snapped him.
“No. You’re the one that attacked the only woman in his house that has ever had faith in you.”
Tony’s breathing was hitched as he watched Steve lean back. The near trembling man could not bring himself to say anything further as the large blonde turned and, without any final words, left the drunken man and his suit of armour. There was a temporary desire to have the final word, to shout something at the self-righteous soldier and his lectures. He did not know Tony, nor did he know the others for that matter. Nothing was said. There was only the sharp memory of his final words to Janet, the one’s that caused such pain in her eyes. A memory that resumed Tony’s desperate hunt for something to dull the memories. The weight in his heart brought him to his knees, the man collapsing as he looked in panic for any spare bottle or hidden flask that he had forgotten about. There was nothing, just the continuous memory of Janet’s betrayed face and the arrogant words of Steve Rogers, America’s favourite super soldier. The weight in his chest grew more so, so much that his chest rested on the hard floor. Cooling his sweating forehead on the wooden panels, Tony winced. He cupped his face, but it did little to stop the sweltering feeling of shame from kicking his mind over and over.
He should never have come to this place. There was no need to. He wasn’t like Steve Rogers, or Hank, or Jennifer, or even Peter. He wasn’t a hero or a good man. He was a failure, a failure as a friend included within that. Steve was right. Janet had been nothing but sweet to the man, patient with him. All the while dealing with the stresses of Hank and his issues. A man still locked up in his cell, still there since the time that Tony had last seen him. Such thoughts spun in Tony’s mind and pushed his arms up. Rising to his feet only to stagger back, Tony let off a saddened smile as he slowly trod towards the door on uneven feet.
***
Tony’s words were a horrid song within Janet’s mind, the lyrics refusing to get out of her head. No matter how much she tried to distract herself with carefully distilling the perfected formula, a complicated process requiring high skill, the memory remained. As she wrote shaky notes with an exhausted hand, such memories bred into more. The ever-present guilt of goading her husband to continue the research, the disastrous results, the fact that he was resting in a containment cell instead of being at her side. All variables struck her mind like a cruel whip.
The scientist rubbed her swollen and baggy eyes, feeling no relief as she tried to massage them. Perhaps, she didn’t deserve any. She did curse her husband with a chemical that ruined his brain chemistry. While Strange had promised that the previous formula had no long-term side effects, the paranoia of mentally damaging her husband beyond remedy was still there and was growing. It also didn’t help that her faith in Strange had splintered. She had no question that he was a man trying his best in life, but the fact that he had not been honest with her hurt. It was a very sharp wound, and it was too fresh to consider letting it heal. Yet, much like with her fear over her husband, her ability to focus on her work and forget about Strange faltered. The sleepless woman took a long sip of water. A moment later, she dropped her head to the table, praying that it was enough to make her pass out and sleep.
It never came to her. After giving up on seeking rest, Janet stared back at her notes. While the new variation had successfully worked on several cithlons without any side effects to observe, it was still a while away from being what they needed. A human needed to test the serum, and she knew without a second guess that Hank would demand that he be the one to do it. A thought that made Janet’s stomach drop. It was that very same mindset that got Hank’s mind warped in the first place. If he did take the new formula, there was still the chance that it could damage him all over again. A second mistake from his very wife. A long exhale left her, one that sounded like a dry gust of wind. Hank should not be the one near the formula, especially in an untested phase. Janet’s mind was absolute. She would not allow him to be victim to her impulsive need for research and lack of foresight again. Tony was right. Her husband deserved better than that.
The thought made her spine curl, lifting her head off of the table. She was still, considering and reflecting. It was only right after all, given that she had been the one to work on the formula. That had been Hank’s defence Janet and Steve accused him so heavily. She had been the one to work with Strange. It had been Janet’s research, not Hank’s, that had shrunk and revived the cithlon. Her eyes lolled over the vial of perfectly ruby liquid in her hand, fingers almost stroking it. Her decision was made. She would not risk anyone else suffering from her mistakes. Her husband was one too many. Taking a vial of the antithesis serum as well, Janet left her room. She was not nervous about being seen. From what she could understand and hear, the Sanctum was silent and dreary, even more so than usual.
Janet took no notice, however. Her mind was fixated on the vials in her pocket and the guilt crushing her logic and ability for rational thought. It was enough for the woman to have little concern or hesitation as she entered the near abandoned storeroom that Hank’s equipment had been thrown in. As she stared at the leathery attire and bulbous helmet, the woman clenched her fists. She took a step back, almost turning only to notice the weight of the vials in her pocket again. Vials of her work, a work that put an innocent man on the brink of insanity. Her own husband and the person that she loved more than life itself.
Hank was many sizes larger than her, even around the hips. Struggling to hoist the loose suit around her midsection, she soon gave up on comfort and allowed the suit to hand loose as if it were pyjama clothes. Had she been in a better mood, she would have giggled at the fact that she looked like a child wearing their parent’s clothes. She was not in a good mood, however. With one last moment of questioning herself, the scientist placed Hank’s helmet on and carefully ensured all entrances and attachments were airtight.
Her hands were shaking. She was only aware of that fact as she struggled to put the two vials into the mechanism within her belt. A belt that did not reach anywhere near her. A belt that was now shaking itself as Janet played with the button at the front. Janet closed her eyes. She allowed herself one last deep breath, remembering why she was doing this. Just as the horrid, freezing guilt threatened to strike her body anew, Janet’s quivering finger pressed the button.
***
A/N: Hi all! Sorry for the very annoying delay. It was due to a mix of work, and this chapter originally being more than double what it was, so I’ve cut it into two chapters for the sake of brevity.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the progressions for each of the characters. This is very much their low point or keen learning experience (especially for Peter and Steve), with the next chapter being more optimistic and defining for who they want to be moving forwards in their respective lives (especially for Thor, Tony, Strange and Peter). Next chapter will also be one of the last, as I think there’ll only be two or three main chapters after this one. Don’t worry though, as there will be a sequel!
If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a comment or kudos. I always love seeing them and it’s been really fantastic to see so many people engage with this story. So, genuinely, thank you. Otherwise, have a lovely end to the week.
Fact of the chapter: On average, when you have your first child, you’ll lose around 350 hours of sleep, resulting in a ‘sleep debt’. As you have more children, you’ll typically maintain the amount of hours that you lose, unless if you multiple kids within a small timeframe that have different sleeping patterns, which will increase your debt by roughly an hour or so a day. Now, regardless of me not having any kids at the moment, I’d argue I certainly have a sleep surplus, if anything.
Chapter 14: The Avengers
Chapter Text
“Donald, will you get out my fucking face, you dumbass?”
“Don’t see why I need to. Not allowed to just stand here, Blake? In my own fucking bar?”
The tavern that Steven Rogers had taken Thor to many nights ago was significantly noisier than on the last occasion. The wooden walls, thickened with the hot, damp air, were lined with loud, belligerent individuals. Many seemed to be struggling to speak their own language, with countless bleary eyes narrowed in faulty attempts to understand what was being said to them from less than a metre away. It had not been hard to find, either. Not with a soft spell spoken into the air that Mimir once offered him as a way to re-tread drunken footsteps to find belongings that the younger god had lost when stumbling.
As Thor pushed past a huddle of standing patrons near the door, he missed a man curl his mouth in an attempt to curse at him. It was only when he understood that he was a full foot shorter than the newcomer that he promptly shut up and returned to arguing with his co-worker. Thor did his best to ignore the smell of spilt alcohol as he neared the bar. He was an odd sight, having taken what human clothes that he could find. An ill-fitting black sweater that left the red shirt underneath exposed. His jeans were so tight that he did not bother to fit the button in or to zip the waist up, for it would be pointless. Instead, the giant man simply hid the tops of his pants under his shirt, making him look as if he were some bizarre art student.
As he sat upon the stool with torn pleather padding, a short, balding bartender with eyes strained for many hours of work looked at him carefully. Such large, bearded men with so many small scars on their faces weren’t typically teachers or nurses, especially not in the bar around him.
“Ale.” Thor stated in a soft voice as the bartender opened his mouth.
“Any brand?”
“The strongest.” Answered the Aesir, giving the bartender an authoritative stare and making him nod softly.
Thor paid no attention to the barrage of noise around him, to the various screens of coloured glass that moved with images, to the slovenly man leaning his back against Thor’s arm. At least some in this world were still in a good mood, cradled with ignorance of demons and mystical threats. There was almost a level of envy from the god as he watched how careless they acted as they drank and shouted. In his younger days, such festivities would last days and Thor would be left with such numbness in the body and mind that he would be willing to challenge even Surtr to combat. Yet, as he looked at the glass of golden liquid being placed near his hand, he suddenly felt no desire to drink and sing. There was no passion left in drinking himself into being a fool, and holding someone to his side as they laughed and spoke of eager thoughts and desires. It was almost melancholic as the realisation that he felt no urge to replicate so many youthful experiences hit him. He just…didn’t want to be so drunken anymore. Why was he even there? It was a foolish question. It was because the Crown Prince of Asgard had nowhere else to go throw himself from his mind’s maelstrom. Asgard had been tainted by his failure as a prince, and Earth would no doubt suffer due to his anger and arrogance as well. All surrounding him typically did, after all.
“Four bucks.”
Thor placed a note that Steve had given him during their previous outing. There was a slight hesitation, causing Thor to be mildly hopeful that he had given the right symbol in the paper’s corner. No complaints were made as the bartender took the paper and prepared to place it in some box of sorts.
“You really aren’t from here, are you?”
A tall, blonde woman with her hair shaved at the sides was leaning on the bar next to him. A tight smirk was resting on her lips and her water blue eyes travelled to the suddenly frozen bartender.
“Especially if you can’t tell a fifty-buck note from a fiver that you also have in your hand. His change, Arthur.”
Thor looked down into the small bundle of notes in his hand. Had he not been in a such a middling mood, he would have been embarrassed and possibly laughed. Instead, he nodded in gratitude to the woman as he felt several more notes and some coins being very carefully placed in large, outstretched hand. The bartender was hasty to busy himself elsewhere within the building, intent to put as much distance between himself and the man twice his size.
“Thank you. I…was not paying attention.”
He had been in a better mood, he would have rejoiced at the sight of the beautiful, strongly fitted woman once again. She was, after all, a fairer catch for the battle-scarred god compared to the smaller, bone-shaped woman that flocked with human men. Yet, he could not manage much more than a tight nod. Even a social smile was difficult to muster with a heart so heavy.
“Huh.” The blonde bucked her head sceptically, her eyes staying on how carelessly he was holding onto the cash.
Either he was rich, yet chose to wear clothes that were clearly not his, or he had no grasp of the value of a dollar. Even the way that he seemed to be completely unaccustomed to his surroundings. He seemed as if he didn’t know what he was meant to do, even at a bar. It only piqued the blonde’s interest further in the rough man.
His large hand rose slightly as he used it to gesture to his drink.
“In gratitude, shall I gather you your own drink?”
The blonde’s eyebrows shifted as she considered the proposition before shrugging. As she removed her leather jacket and practically shoved the drunken man out of the stool to Thor’s side, the Aesir drew the anxious attention of the bartender.
“I never got your name.” The woman mentioned as she gestured to a bottle of whiskey behind a glass cabinet.
“Donald Blake.” Thor’s response was dry and almost a groan, making her look at him sceptically, “Is that an unusual name in these regions? It’s common in my homestead.”
“I didn’t think Donald was a Scandinavian name.” She smirked playfully, her strong jawline jutting out as she did so.
“Have you ventured there?”
“Can’t say I have, no.”
“Then you would not know how many Donald’s are there.” Thor chuckled quietly as he sipped his drink, “And your name?”
“Barbara Norris.” Her answer aligned with her hand being offered to the god.
Thor allowed himself a small, genuine smile and took it. Out of an almost childish curiosity, Barbara squeezed the mighty hand as hard as she could to gauge his reaction. He didn’t even flinch and seemed completely unaware of anything unusual. Even as he pulled his hand back, Barbara’s attempts to latch on to it failed as he easily slipped away. He looked none the wiser at the interaction, as well. Returning to his drink, Barbara’s curiosity turned to being impressed as she watched the large blonde drink the entirety of his beer in less than four seconds. A soft whistle escaped lips decorated with a scar.
“Shit. One of those nights?”
“It’s one of many nights.”
The dower response made something comfortable move in Barbara’s stomach. The woman fidgeted on her stool somewhat, and was quick to take her whiskey in hand.
“Yeah, know something about that, too.”
“Hmm.”
Thor’s grunt ended with a slightly higher pitch as he noticed that Barbara’s drink was already empty. His smile returned and he watched as Barbara gestured to the bartender with a threatening finger.
“The same.” She mouthed before turning to Thor, “So, what’s eating at you? Or, do I need to get you drunk before you talk?”
“I wish you the best with that.” Thor admitted, his eyes returning to his empty glass.
“Is that so?” Barbara chuckled deeply, “If that’s a challenge, I’ll drink your tits off, old man.”
Thor paused, registered the comment, and then turned to look back at her.
“I wish you the best with that.”
He had not been lying, much to Barbara’s fascination and horror. She had known that he wasn’t normal. His size, his accent, and his complete lack of basic knowledge proved such a thing. There was also the fact that she had seen him many days prior, lightning coming from his body as he stood next to a man wielding Captain America’s shield. He was no doubt a mutant, or something along that line. But never had she considered that being a mutant meant that he could drink six beers in less than an hour without showing a single sign of being intoxicated. His speech was smooth and constructed well, his stance had not turned to a slouch, his mood remained sombre and distain consistently. The man simply did not process alcohol like it should have been. Barbara, on the other hand, was already losing her grip on the bar’s bench. The bartender eyed her cautiously, silently praying that he didn’t have a fourth person passing out in the bar that evening. Her pale, taut cheeks were flushed and laden with a damp sheen. While she was no babbling drunk, the intensity of her words had sharpened as the late evening dragged on.
Thor listened intently, quite content to have something on his mind that wasn’t Asgard, his distant family, or the breakdown of his recent companions. The latter was a fresher wound, and one that felt all the more bitter as it had given him some hope that he was capable of actually defeating Varnae. Some hope of actually being better. As Thor collected his seventh round of the evening, Barbara was shaking her head, her mind interwoven with her story of why she preferred something called a ‘Slayer’ opposed to other methods of travel.
“It sounds stupid, I am aware.” The intoxicated woman nodded, “But…the clutch is so much smoother, and…It just rides so…It’s like it’s in sync with me, you know? It’s a part of you. It reacts when you do. No lag, or drag, or…It’s just a good bike.” Barbara looked over to Thor, seeing the larger man staring out in front of him, “It’s fine. I’m being weird, and drunk, and…”
“I do know of what you speak.” Thor’s voice was hesitant, “Having something that is an extension of who you are.” He turned to her, giving off a reflective expression, “And when it’s gone, you don’t feel as if you’re whole, or even yourself. Without it, you feel like you must learn to walk with steps missing in your path, and that there’s a greater chance of falling without those steps.”
Barbara remained perfectly still, feeling herself resonate with the allegory. She used her motorbike daily, needing no excuse to use it. In fact, when riding during the calm darkness of the night, Barbara felt her day’s frustrations or anxieties melt away from the vibration of the motor underneath her, or the noise of her mind die out amongst roar of the engine. A dispassionate grunt left her throat, and she took a long sip of her whiskey.
“Yeah, like that. You have something, too?”
“Once.” Thor shifted in discomfort, the first time that Barbara had seen the man display anything other than a strengthened emotion, “A family heirloom. I…It was gifted to me as a youth.”
“Lost it?” Barbara asked gently.
“In a way, yes.” Thor sighed, “I lost it because I was a fool.”
Thor grew silent, his face scrunched beneath his beard as he stared into his near empty glass. Barbara, still sober enough to know it was a sharp subject being held within his mind, did not know whether to press further or not. Typically, the rather blunt woman would not care. However, she would also be typically talking to men that were not as…reserved or completive as ‘Donald’.
“You are wise.” He suddenly stated, making her blink twice, “Tell me, Barbara Norris of Vermont, do you believe that we are cursed with repetition? That once we are cast in our shape, that we cannot change it?” Thor’s eyes seemed to droop slightly as he continued looking at his drink, “A new…friend told me that we learn and change as we live. What do you say to that?”
It took several moments for a tipsy Barbara to unravel the question that Thor had worded so strangely. As soon as she registered it, she huffed her cheeks out and raised her eyebrows. The man next to her practically smelt like ‘midlife crisis’ personified, but she found herself reluctant to dismiss his words as something so trivial. So, she offered his questions as much constructive thought as she could manage. Her taut face shifted several times, finishing with a deep sigh.
“I think people are naïve assholes if they think they can erase the past.” She turned her head towards her companion, prompting Thor to do the same, “I think our shit is still there, no matter what you do. You can be a saint, you can cure a disease. That doesn’t change you breaking your brother’s favourite action figure, or you placing weed in some bitch’s locker during lunch. It’s still there. There’s no such thing as a clean slate.”
Thor’s eyes did not weak, nor did he crumple. He did, however, feel his chest let out a deep breath of disappointment at such words. Seeing this, Barbara continued.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help more people in the future than we’ve screwed in the past. It’s fucking stupid to think just because we’ve done some shit that we can’t do some good. Just a matter of helping more. Won’t undo putting weed in Lucy Acromobe’s locker, but still something good, I guess.” Barbara shrugged.
“Something good.” Thor repeated, not taking his eyes away from hers.
He was very difficult to read in the time after Barbara’s words. He stilled, like a handsome statue wrapped in unfitting clothes. Barbara honestly didn’t know if he was about to sniffle a sob or shout. He was always so…restrained. While it was attractive, a mildly drunken Barbara was quickly finding it to be frustrating as well. Without warning, Thor filled his glass to his lips, finished his drink, and slammed the glass upon the counter. He was on his feet soon after.
“Thank you for your company, Barbara Norris. I am coming to enjoy it considerably.” Thor nodded, his large hand squeezing Barbara’s shoulder, “And thank you for your wisdom. It has given me much to reflect on.”
The feeling of such pronounced muscles on her buzzing skin made her heartbeat increase faster than she would have admitted.
“It’s been a good night. We should do it again.” Barbara’s eyebrow cocked confidently.
Thor stared at her, the comment generating questions on Thor’s stay on Midgard and the concept of knowing humans on a sociable level. He had done so in the past, but as a god. Talking to them on a more even field was an interesting change for the god, one that made him eventually nod.
“Should I make wise choices, I would deeply enjoy that. You are a pleasant woman to be around.”
Barbara snorted, leading into a dry chuckle. It was one of the more fancier ways that a man had described her.
“You’re pleasant to be around, too. The tight shirt and large arms certainly help with that.” She tilted her head in drunken appreciation.
“And your bountiful breasts aid you, as well. Venture home safely, Barbara Norris.”
The blonde woman laughed at his raw compliment, making the Aesir smile gently as he passed her. It was a short-lived smile, for the words of Barbara played deeply in his mind. As he pushed passed several drunk humans, he feet his feet grow heavier as they turned in the direction that he had come.
“Something good.” He murmured into the dark hours of the late evening.
***
It took Peter almost twenty minutes to find the perfect speech to perform. It took him three attempts to actually stop at Janet’s door instead of walking past it. It took him a further two attempts to actually knock. As he did so, he felt his eyes close tightly and his heart travel to his throat. A thick wave of shame and embarrassment hit him, along with a strong line of questioning over his moronic life choices that led him to the situation that he was currently in. His dry throat clenched, the clammy feeling in his hands forming. There was no point in questions now, for he was already in the deep end. Peter shifted on his feet, his body turned towards the corridor and ready to hastily retreat. The door opened.
Jen’s eyes widened briefly as she registered the lanky teen in front of her. Maxxie, in a rare state of being awake, was hasty in her attempts to circle Peter’s ankles and provide him with many sniffs and licks. Peter was grateful, as it provided a beautiful break from the sudden tension that was cutting off the air in his head. There was an awkward moment of motionless silence as the two simply watched Maxxie running about, both hoping that the dog’s antics would last as long as possible. Unfortunately, the pug soon sat square against Peter’s leg and looked up at her housemate expectantly. Peter was soon to follow, his cheeks as ripe as a cherry tomato.
“Hey.” He managed, bopping his head a little.
“Hey.” Jen smiled, doing her best to look casual and not rigid or antisocial.
Talking was difficult at the best of times. There were so many options for things to talk about, and Jen never seemed to quite know what the best topic was. It was an issue that was only exasperated by the fact that the last time that she had been alone with the teen before her, he had propositioned her. The first guy since college, a fact that required several more sessions with her therapist to unwind.
The silence tugged at Peter, making him grimace as the sweatiness of his hands felt too uncomfortable. It was better to rip the band-aid off.
“I…” His cheeks grew even redder, “Look, I, ah…” A pained sigh left the teen, “I screwed, and I’m sorry. I was so damn rude. I…I misread some things and was a total dick about it. Like, a major dick. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry.”
Jen watched as Peter fidgeted with his sleek hands. Whilst maintaining eye contact with her, it was clear that it took some effort on his part. His eyes were anxious and would flick to the sides nearly every alternate second before returning to her dark orbs. Orbs that soon mellowed from frigid to understanding.
“Yeah, you were.” Jen admitted, nodding as she rested her hands in her pockets, “A major dick.”
Peter broke eye contact. His head craned downwards, and Jen heard a very sharp intake of air leave him. Her stomach tightened in guilt, taking no pleasure in the topic at all. In fact, it was the first time that she had ever been in such a position. Whilst not ugly, she was certainly not the prize of her cohort. She was quiet, socially mangled, and didn’t stick out from a line of three or four. Letting someone down gently was as tricky as her final law school exams, it seemed.
“But,” Her own cheeks flushed red, “I probably led you on, too. So, I’m sorry.” The desire to rock on her ankles, to fidget, to do anything to distract her from the uncomfortable feeling in her tummy, rose, “You’re not a dick. You’re actually a pretty awesome guy, and I’ve enjoyed us hanging out. It’s…been refreshing, actually. You’re smart, funny, and interesting. If it weren’t for the age issue, I’d probably have said ‘yes’.” She noticed his face was turning a deeper shade of scarlet as he slowly looked up, “So, for the sake of dealing with crazy vampire and sea people…are we okay?”
Peter didn’t need long to reply. In fact, his answer was already on his tongue as the back of his mind closely examined her choice of wording.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Peter smiled abashedly, his hand extended to her, “Teammates?”
The sudden removal of awkward tension made Jen’s tense body sag with relief. The woman stopped rolling on her ankles and was no longer grinding her teeth. A relaxed smile shifted her face as she squeezed his hand.
“Teammates.”
The feeling of her soft hand made Peter’s body tingle slightly, and he was reluctant to let it go. As they did, the pair stood in yet another wave of uncomfortable silence. Neither quite knew what to do. For Peter, it was a mixed feeling that was tugging at his chest. While he was grateful that she wasn’t upset at him or that she wanted to ignore him indefinitely, it was still disappointing and raw to think about the rejection. Jen truly was a brilliant woman in all aspects. Still, a teammate was better than nothing, and the fact that she still wanted to be friends was better than expected. For Jen, the removal of awkward tension was a Godsend. There was still guilt at hurting Peter’s feelings, however, as well as a far darker guilt at the back of her mind, one that played with the idea of what Peter would be like as a romantic partner. Hastily removing such thoughts, Jen spoke once more.
“You spoken to Steve?”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “We need to get the rest of the team back together. Sounds…terrifying.” He admitted with a large grimace, “Plus, I think Thor and Doctor Strange are gone.”
“We should go find them, then.” Sighed Jen, her mind doing its best to guess where a god and sorcerer could be lurking, “We should talk to Steve first. See who else has…gotten over last night.”
“Yeah.”
Peter’s tone was not confident. Given the look of disgust on Tony’s face, the regret of Thor’s, the disgrace on Doctor Strange’s, the hurt from Janet, and the betrayal of Jackie, Peter was not liking their odds. Still, Peter looked at the situation as if it were an equation. Mathematically speaking, if only half the team remained, they were quite frankly screwed. Even with Thor, Strange and Jackie still on side, the odds weren’t exactly great.
“I’ll do one last sweep of the haunted house to see if Thor or Strange are back.” Peter suggested, already walking backwards, “Meet with Steve?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jen smiled.
Her chest bubbled with anxiety as her overactive mind demanded that she continue the conversation, cruelly suggesting that ‘sounds like a plan’ was a horrid way to end a sentence. With each footstep that Peter took away from her, Jen’s social hindrances grew. Her mouth flexed several times until seemingly random words babbled from her tongue.
“Good to…be on the…team again.”
The internal wince was strong enough for the woman to actually shift as if she were hit by an invisible fist. Jen hated her mind, and there was a reason that she stayed silent near people more times than not. Her mouth was simply her enemy, an enemy that was taking many years to deal with. Thankfully, Peter stopped down the hall, turned, and gave what Jen viewed as a mischievous smile.
“Teammates.” He nodded, walking backwards again, “You know, I’m in college in a few months, so…”
Peter’s grin was not nervous, it was smug. The shy woman’s lips gaped a little as she deciphered what he was getting at. Feeling her cheeks flush again, Jen rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could.
“Peter,” She warned, “Watch the line.”
“Of course. Teammates. Professional. Workplace rules.” Peter agreed, his tone mirroring a teacher or supervisor, “But if me being seventeen was the only reason that you won’t date me-”
“Peter,” Jen managed through gritted teeth, her mind failing to provide reasonable ways to manoeuvre out of the situation, “Go find Thor.”
“Will do, teammate.” Peter turned, resuming his walk down the hallway, “I can be patient.” He murmured.
Jen snorted, stepping back into her room. Her cheeks were very red, and she was aware that she was playing with her hands once more.
“See how long you’re patient with girls in college.” She rolled her eyes, a reluctant but humoured smile on her face, “Teenagers. What do you think, Maxxie? Give him a semester before his first girl…Maxxie?”
Turning around, Jen noticed that she was the only one in her room. Her shoulders dropped as her eyes narrowed. The cuddle slut had run off with Peter, leaving the one that fed her to broad over uncomfortable romantic situations that she was woefully underprepared for. It was another reason that Jennifer loathed Varnae. He had heavily disrupted her counselling sessions.
***
The numbness of Tony’s legs had betrayed him many times. On over a dozen occasions, the drunken man crumbled and crashed into walls and carpets. His mind would not focus his eyes, making his world tilt and spin as he attempted to navigate the never-ending maze that was the Sanctum Santorum. The carpet burns on his bare hands were already a distant, fuzzy memory as he crawled through a familiar corridor. Unfortunately, it was one of the only few memories that had left him in his drunken stupor. Every regret, ranging from childhood moments of bullying to cruelling mocking Janet, seemed to sharpen in Tony’s mind. He could not shake them. In fact, there was almost a sick pleasure in having the memories poke at his heart so many times so often. It was a horrid feeling, one that would not escape him. Not even alcohol was doing its job and taking his mind elsewhere. The feeling of regret and uselessness clung to him, biting at his spine. It never left him, not once.
Soon, he was upon his feet again. It was that pain that urged him on. The desperate need to scream, to shout, to simply feel anything that wasn’t pain became overwhelming. So much so that it was becoming hard to breathe. He needed something, anything. A great growl left his dry lips as he lifted himself before a door marked with yellow painted markings. Tony was too far gone to fully register what the markings could be, runes or otherwise. His primary focus was opening the damn knob and stumbling forwards. A very wide, barren room encased him. One that was filled with a green carpet, walls decorated with more yellow painted signs, and a large glass cell.
The occupant of said cell sat up from his cot, placing his book at his side as he did so. From what Tony could see, Hank was far stronger and cleaner than he had been in days passed. His skin was no longer damp or pale, and the red bags under his eyes had dissolved. His dirty blonde hair was still grimy and messy, but that was about the only sign of the mental decay that had once plagued the genius physicist. As he watched Tony stagger forwards, Hank’s eyes softened. He had seen Tony in such states on many occasions, often during benefits or university galas, and never did they end well. In fact, Hank’s memory still clung onto a rather vivid vision of Tony throwing up in a garden that was in front of the Chancellor’s Office several years prior. If Hank had been poisoned by his own hand, a case could certainly be made that Tony had done the same. It was that self-awareness that kept the timid scientist from saying anything dismissive or judgemental. He wouldn’t have been able to, however, as Tony suddenly barked his words as if they burnt his tongue.
"You're not better than me.” Tony stated, his voice bitter.
Hank exhaled, doing his best to remain calm. Arguing with an unstable drunk, especially when locked in a magical cell, was not wise. His mind finally clear and sharp, the irony of Hank and Tony swapping positions on mental stability was not lost to the scientist. He simply stayed still as he looked at Tony in the reddened eye. The inventor was several metres away, about half-way between the door and the cell. Even from such a distant, it was clear that staying upright required considerable effort for Tony.
“I’ve never thought or said that, Tony.” Was the careful response.
Tony chuckled dryly, his face scrunched up in anger. Soon, his feet began to move him. Hank remained seated, his eyes following Tony’s ever step.
“Nothing easy was given to me. I worked in school. I didn’t sleep for months, all working. You don’t know what I inherited.” The inventor spat, “The fame, the cameras following your every fucking move, the pressure, the politicians desperate to get in your back pocket, the charities sobbing at you. The company that killed thousands and were applauded for it. Guns, bombs, tanks, and trucks. Toys for adults that the lovely Starks made.” Tony sang, his voice a near snarl as he stormed around in a circle, “Hank Pym, the country boy made millionaire. The sober one. Well, you didn’t have my false start. You didn’t start the race with a chain and weight on your feet.”
“I didn’t.” Hank acknowledged coolly.
Tony didn’t seem to register Hank’s words or his gentle tone. He was too busy noticing the burning in his throat as his mind attempted to hold the crumpling wall within his mind at bay. Unfortunately, emotional control when drunk was not an overly easy task. He had no reason to speak, yet that did not stop his lips from moving. He had no desire for it, either. Yet, for some unknown cause, the intoxicated man could not stop the manic need to relieve the pressure in his mind. A pressure that only furthered his inability to focus. His eyes were weak and vulnerable, and as spoke further, his voice broke several times.
“I had Howard Stark as a father. I had…”
Tony suddenly stopped. His face was moulded into an expression of pure loathing. Hank noticed that his hands were pale white from being squeezed into such a tight fist. He could not see the blood pooling from Tony’s nails cutting into his flesh. His voice was soft, making it very difficult for Hank to hear.
“When I first entered the board of Stark Industries, it was during nineteen-seventy-three.” Tony’s almost sagged to the point to collapsing to the ground, “I got given some shares, designed some stupid fuelling system, and it was enough for some family friends to convince my dad to give me a shot on the board. In my twenties, and already welcomed to the Round Table.” Tony’s laugh was hollow and miserable.
Hank didn’t interrupt. In fact, he rose so that he was on the same level as Tony, just as the latter had done when Hank was oblivious to his surroundings several days ago. He couldn’t interrupt. The well of Hank’s curiosity was too deep to escape. It was clear that Tony wasn’t talking to Hank, not directly. His words were too pointed, too full of an emotion that Hank had not induced during any prior conversation, even when drugged. It left Hank to be all the more curious as to just who had set Tony off about his place in the world and his own life.
“Want to know the first project that was presented to board was? When I…When I joined.” Tony’s face hardened as turned to look Hank directly in the eye, “Remember Bolivar Trask?”
Hank’s jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed somewhat. Amongst the scientific world, especially the engineering and robotics sector, it was a name that would live on infamy. Even a decade after being incarcerated, Trask was a man seldom referenced outside of history classes. Some projects were too taboo to warrant further discussion, so many were content to simply pretend as if they never existed. Politicians, in particular, were fond of acting as if a man such as Bolivar Trask never existed at all, and that there was never any government funding of any kind given to him.
“The first month on the board, I was given a lovely document on the Sentinel Program.” Tony’s eyes sharpened as his body seemed to waver, “Remember those? Anti-mutant robots, gatling guns and all? Trask offered to make it a joint business venture with us. Wanna know what daddy dearest said?”
“Yes.” Hank’s tone was as neutral as possible.
The answer seemed to cause Tony great pain. His face curled into a foul grimace, and he was quick to shake his head in dismay.
“A fucking project that targeted people for their blood. A project that didn’t give a fucking damn if the people effected were terrorists or not. You’re a mutant? Congrats, you’re dead!”
Tony’s shout made Hank flinch. The inventor resumed his pacing. He was once again desperate to ignore the feelings in his mind and the overwhelming pressure in his chest. He didn’t know why he was talking. It was Hank. Hank. The blandest person in the worst. The man that was white bread personified. Yet, it seemed to ease things. The lack of judgement in Hank’s eyes was welcomed by the weakened man, though he could not bring himself to admit it. All he could do was walk. All he could do was focus on the feeling of a carpet on his feet as his throat burned and his eyes dampened.
“What did you do?” Hank asked.
“I…” Tony stopped once more, his back to Hank, “I said no. I told the board it was a horrible project to be involved in.” Tony’s voice suddenly grew tight, “Dad tried to convince the board that it was a goldmine, and we’d be solely responsible for protecting the country. I said it was untested and if the machines killed humans, we’d be fucked. I had to use human deaths to convince the others. They…They didn’t care about the mutants.” Tony adopted a look that Hank had never seen on him: disgust, “I won the vote by one.”
Tony stopped speaking as he stared at the wall. His mind was quick in flashing every image of that day so brightly that he could not think of anything else. It was a day well committed to memory. He could still remember the smell of the receptionist’s perfume, the taste of the overpriced coffee, the abstract steel statue behind this father’s seat in the boardroom. The look of distain on his father’s face as he lost the vote. Tony could remember every second and every detail of that day. No amount of drinking could gift him with forgetting that.
“Then, what happened?”
Tony stayed where he was.
“He didn’t talk to me for weeks. He used his assistant to deliver reports and company updates. Every time I rang, his assistant told me that dad was sick or busy. In meetings, he would ignore my comments, and then run away when I tried to speak to him.”
“I’m sorry.” Hank sighed, not knowing what else to say, “I know you’re going to argue with me, but you did the moral thing. That project was…”
“Fucked. Completely fucked, and I was right in the end.” Tony chuckled darkly, “Few weeks later, Magneto threatens Nixon on live television. Blue chick saves the day. Sentinel Program is dismantled, and Stark Industries is saved from a disaster. The day after that all went down, my dad walks up to me, shakes my hand, and says ‘that was a good business decision. You’ll make a great CEO one day’, and walked off as if nothing had happened.” Tony’s voice shifted once more, sounding as if he were spitting out bile, “He cared more about a business deal than killing innoc…”
Tony finally turned around, allowing Hank to see sunken eyes and a beard that had clearly been plucked at as Tony rambled. Hank was not surprised by the story. Howard Stark was notorious for his shrewd business habits and his rather outspoken opinions on national defence. That in and of itself was no further surprise to Hank, given the man had made his millions off of the arms trade. Without conflict, Stark Industries would not have survived the sixties at all.
“We didn’t speak for years after that. Didn’t want to. Because he was a fucking prick. A selfish, abusive fucking prick who deserved the car crash!”
A thick silence encased the room. Hank could not form any words of comfort, for he knew none that would be suitable. Tony’s body had begun to heave, his shoulders winding as he bared his teeth in terrible pain. His eyes were damp and his attempts to stagger forward almost made him collapse. He did. Hank closed his eyes just as Tony slipped onto the ground. A rough grunt escaped him. As Hank opened his eyes, he saw Tony just lying there. His eyes were staring vacantly into oblivion.
“You know, that time he shook my hand after the Sentinel issue? That was the only time he complimented by business skills. The only time." Tony’s voice was now a quiet sob, “Never heard it again. Even when I started working on robotics and computers, he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t proud.” Tony’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, “I just wanted…”
Hank eyes were long and weary. Having heard such woeful words from a drunken man trying not to cry, it was difficult not to be overwhelmed himself. Hank’s control over his emotions was a fluctuating thing, especially without Janet there to aid him, as she often did. Without her, there was just two adult men that had no strong processing ability for what they felt. It was partially why both of them focussed so much on their work. Science was logical and had set rules that could not be altered. Emotions were the exact opposite. Hank sighed loudly and rested his forehead on the glass.
“Tony, with complete respect, your dad was an asshole.”
Tony didn’t respond. Hank was left with a deep concern that he had overstepped with the erratic man, or that Tony was zoning out again. It was only the series of snorted chuckles that let Hank know that his comment was registered well.
“A fucking prick that makes me drink.” Tony whispered to himself as he wiped his wet eyes.
He turned, noticing that Hank was lowering himself so that he was sitting on the floor as well. The blonde chewed his lip and rested his head against the glass once more, staring idly at the floor between them. It gave Tony some time to recollect him, and for that he was grateful. Even in his intoxicated state, he was still embarrassed as the tears trickled.
“Tony,” Hank looked at the drunken man earnestly, “Your dad’s not here anymore. I know that hurts. A lot. And you can spend the rest of your life trying to make him proud, but he’s not going to answer you. You shouldn’t need to wait for something like that.” Hank cleared this tight throat, “You can drink and snort coke and sleep with as many hookers as you want. It’s still the same. He’s gone, but you’re still here. The Stark of Stark Industries is you, not Howard. Howard didn’t invent the Arc Reactor. Tony did. Howard can’t help people now, but Tony can. There’s no point in drinking like this, you’ll just kill yourself. And then? Then, no one will ever be helped by you. That’s the difference between you and your father. One can help people.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed as they watered once more. For a moment, Hank was expecting a violent outburst. So did Tony. A horrid rage burnt and scolded his bones as he glared venomously at Hank. His upper body rose off the floor, but that was it. The hatred dissolved into pain. A pain that he had felt for so many nights and for so many days. A pain that was numbed but never cured with the drinking. A pain that made Tony exhale loudly many times as he tried to control himself.
“You…You sound like…”
He sounded like Steve Rogers, whose words rung within his mind parallel to Hank’s. The combination of advice about family, drinking and being able to actually do something in a horrible world made Tony grimace, his face desperate to stop any sobs or trails of tears. With considerable effort, he managed to rise to his feet. Hank watched quietly, his eyes saddened.
“You’re not a bad person, Tony. I think you’re a dick. I really do.” Hank admitted, “But there’s still something in there.”
“Yeah.” Tony said softly, sniffing, “Sure.” His tone was not convincing.
Suddenly his eyes widened, as if remembering a great concern. His body even attempted to straighten, though it was a poor effort with such a numb body.
“I, ah…I need to find Janet. I, ah…”
Tony’s tone was abrupt and his eyes hard sharpened considerably. Hank’s eyes switched into a look of great concern and distrust as he watched Tony adopted a drunken march. The man was clearly panicked over something. Rising to his own feet, Hank slammed his hand on the glass.
“What did you do to my wife, Tony? What did you say!”
***
Tony’s journey to Janet’s lab was side-tracked several times. Firstly, his need to empty his stomach took several minutes to complete. Then, there was the need to pour as a much water into his system as possible. Finally, there was the second need to promptly throw up said water that needed to be addressed. By the time that he was able to actually react her working area, it was near three in the morning. Whilst still heavily intoxicated, the removal of some of the alcohol in his system had taken some of the edge off. It was just a shame that it hadn’t aided his ability to walk or see clearly.
“Long night?”
Tony turned, see Steve to the side of Janet’s desk. He was flicking through some of her notes and, had Tony been of a right mind, he would have guessed that he was there for the same reason as he was. Tony’s damp cheeks flushed. His nod was slow and uncoordinated, making Steve give him a sad smile. A smile that Hank had just given him less than an hour ago. The trigger was enough for Tony’s chest to swell with a liquid emotion of pain and a sudden desire to cry once more. He didn’t need pity or judgement. The inventor was quick to turn his head and look at the glass case and the horrifying abyss above them. A sinking swirl of dark waves pooling on the ceiling, one that sucked up tiny particles in the air. A very dark, existential feeling struck the drunkard, gluing him in place as it gave him even more dower memories to process.
“It’s creepy.” Steve spoke lightly, “Strange was using it to clear away the chemicals. It reminds me of a-”
“You were right.” Tony croaked, his back to Steve as he could not bring himself to look at the national hero, “I was a prick. A selfish prick.”
Steve’s head tilted to the side. A hopeful feeling sprung in his chest. It was not a pleasant sight to see such a sweaty, barely conscious man try to understand the events around him. Despite his mixed opinion on Stark, Steve took no delight in seeing a man in such condition. Yet, there was still hope that humanity and even just common decency still existed underneath the alcohol. Steve refused to believe otherwise. Everyone had a spark left in them, even when worn and rusted in the dark. Stark’s determination to get out of the arms trade was proof enough of that.
“Besides,” Tony continued, his voice strengthening, “We’re all gonna die anyway. Might as well do something with our deaths. Something noble or some shit.”
Tony finally turned, offering a reluctant and saddened smile. Steve met it with a more genuine, gentle grin that rose as he nodded. It wasn’t the optimistic return that he had been praying for, but it was Tony after all. It was certainly the best that Steve was going to get, and he was okay with that. It was now just a matter of making sure Tony remained with his current mindset, a concern that already poked at Steve’s mind.
“Yeah, something like that. Though, I disagree with the dying part. I still think we’ll pull through.”
“You’ve been hanging around the kid too much.” Tony rolled his eyes, “A kid we dragged into this mess. Fuck me.” Tony sighed as he tried to read Janet’s notes with blurry eyes, “Hank. Jen…Janet. Everyone dragged…” Tony paused, suddenly remembering why he even came into the room, “Where’s Janet?”
Steve furrowed his brow, and he dropped the notebook that he was reading. Taking several steps so that he and Tony were shoulder to shoulder, the larger man couldn’t help but buck his chin at the magical whirlwind above.
“Yeah, I can’t find her in the house.”
“Maybe she went jogging?”
“Tony, do you know what time it is?” Steve asked with a sceptical look.
Steve felt it first. The gentle sensation on the back of his shoulder. Tony felt it a second after, but was far slower to react. While Steve was spinning, grabbing onto an arm, and throwing someone to the ground, the inventor was too busy stumbling his own ankles. His red eyes widened, and he blinked several times as he tried to understand whether or not if he had taken LSD and forgotten it. A short person in a biker suit was on their back, groaning as they reached for their metal helmet. Tony’s fearful reaction turned to a defensive desire to kick at the person, but Steve put his hand on his chest and held him at back. The blonde’s mouth gaped slightly as he watched the globed helmet roll next to brunette hair.
“Thanks?” Janet was wincing as she clutched her shoulder desperately.
“Wha…Jan…Janet?” Tony mumbled, still trying to understand if he was in reality or not.
Seeing the woman pop out of thin air whilst wearing Hank’s shrinking suit was well within the realm of Tony’s mental journeys into fantasy and the abstract. Steve was immediately at Janet’s side, carefully helping her to her feet. The small scientist huffed, rubbing her dark and swollen eyes before glaring at Steve.
“It was a prank.”
“You took that stuff?”
Steve’s face was cold and stiff, not at all amused by her jump-scare. Janet felt her throat tighten, and a defensive urge hit her just as Tony came to the party at last.
“You took the shrinking stuff? Dude…”
“You don’t get it.” Janet hastily inserted, “I fixed. Strange and I worked out a stable formula. We’ve run tests, and it has no effects on brain activity at all.”
“Tested on who?” Steve’s tone had not eased, nor had his bear-like posture.
“Magical monkeys.” Janet shrugged, her cheeks reddening as she answered with such a bizarre sentence, “Look, it works. The serum has no adverse effects. We made a perfectly viable formula for the Pym Particle.”
“Hank said the same thing.”
Janet’s eyes narrowed at Steve. Her anxiety at his size faded to the point that she took a step closer to him. Tony made a lame attempt at reaching for her arm, his lack of coordination allowing him to miss by several inches. Steve already regretted the comment. Janet’s eyes were full of hurt and a very sharp anger that was not pleasant to see at all, even when being almost two feet taller than her.
“You’re a soldier. I don’t tell you how to aim a gun. I’m a scientist. Don’t tell me how to do my work. I know what went wrong with Hank. I…I know what I did wrong. So, I fixed it. With Stephen’s help.” Steve’s eyes eased a tad, but he did not look too convinced, “Trust me. I took no chances with this. It’s a serum that we’ve tested many times, and I feel no different. Still tired, still upset, and still pissed off.”
The last comment was aimed at Tony, and punctuated with a sharp side glare. It was not missed, even by the drunk. Tony’s eyes lowered as a wave of regret and depression hit him. The reminder for her part in Hank’s downfall only sharpened Tony’s miserable views that his previous comments to Janet were just pathetic, pathetic from a stupid man. A man that Janet had stuck up for many a time. Due to that fact, Tony managed to step towards her with a lowered face full of shame.
“Look, uh…I was a fucking asshole about Hank. Wasn’t called for. You didn’t screw him. No one did. We both know how experiments work. These things…Yeah, look. I was…” Janet’s face was completely blank, making Tony close his eyes, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m…sorry.”
When he opened his bloodshot eyes, he saw Janet scrutinising him closely. He was drunk. The smell and the swaying gave that away. Yet, he appeared cohesive enough to be sincere. His eyes were lowered and weak, and showed clear signs of crying. There was no sarcasm to his voice, either. Janet bit her lip.
“I understand.” Her tone was passive.
“We good?”
Janet looked sheepishly at the ground, and she took several steps closer to Tony. Before Steve could stop her, a knee was violently slammed into Tony’s groin. He was on the floor in an instance, his entire body shaking as he gagged and heaved. Steve glared at Janet as he knelt next to Tony, who was near convulsing with a face as red as the sun. It took Tony almost half a minute before he regained the ability to breathe again.
“You ever mention my husband like that again, Tony…” Janet warned.
Tony, unable to speak, merely offered an upright thumb as Steve patted his back. The soldier soon rose to his feet, his judgemental stare easing a little as Janet relaxed. A guilty part of Steve did deeply enjoy seeing Tony writhe in such a way.
“I still don’t like it.” Steve nodded to the ill-fitting suit that Janet was wearing, “You need to be careful.” His tone became gentle, “Please.”
Janet straightened, her chin rising. When she spoke, it was calm and collected. She had learnt the consequences of being impulsive, and she would not suffer it again.
“I know more than anyone about what this can do to someone, Steve. I won’t let this hurt anyone again. We have enough issues to worry about already without someone going mad.”
Steve’s lip twitched slightly. Placing his hands on his hips, he gave Janet a careful look.
“Will you still help with Varnae?”
Janet rolled her eyes at the question.
“Of course.” She muttered, “I’m not going to run off now that I’ve actually fixed the damn serum. There’s not too many places to run, anyway.”
“Joys of…fighting…vampires.” Tony wheezed.
The man had managed to rise to his feet, though he needed to support himself on the desk for balance. It was taking all of his mental energy not to vomit violently on the floor as the aftershocks of pain pulsed up his spine. The glare that he gave Janet was foul and severe, yet the short woman only bucked her brow at her old colleague. The action made Tony snort a tad, and a shadow of a smile formed.
“Just to confirm…” Steve looked at Tony.
Tony’s chest flared in fear. He thought the situation over the best that he could, which was not well at all. Still, even in his state, there was a guilt at running away and a sadness at not being able to help. A sadness was countered by the words of Hank and Steve. An uncomfortable uncertainty grew in Tony’s gut as he, for once, followed the brighter voice in his head for once. He could attempt to blame the alcohol, but part of him was more terrified of the consequences of running than staying and failing. He would stay and he would succeed. His life would have one victory, he was desperately certain of that.
“Yeah. Someone with…looks needs to be here. And money. Mostly money.”
“And brains.” Janet sighed, “You have brains.”
“Yeah.” Tony grumbled, “Sure.”
His tone suddenly changed as he looked directly at Steve. It was not a pleasant look, and it seemed to focus him away from his drunken distractions.
“Strange.” Steve exhaled silently as Tony began, “He shouldn’t be with us. He got us into this. You know that.”
“He fixed Hank’s serum.” Janet countered, but her face wasn’t entirely full of conviction on the point, “Look, I agree that he’s done…some horrible things, but he made a mistake.”
“One that killed a shit ton of wizards.”
“I almost killed my husband. Should I go?”
Janet did her best to sound strong, but her voice wavered with the last comment. Tony scoffed, not being able to see the link.
“Don’t be stupid, Janet. Different.”
“How?”
“Just is.”
“We need his abilities.” Steve interrupted with a diplomatic air to his voice, “Especially if he’s honest and wants to-”
“Doesn’t mean shit.” Tony snarled, “He did-”
“Your family are arms dealers.” Janet cut in sharply, “Want to count those dead in Vietnam?”
Tony opened his mouth to insult her, but something held him back. The painful memory of seeing her hurt eyes the last time that he did so. Not wanting to inflict anymore cruelty, Tony sombrely looked away.
“I ain’t gonna play buddies with him.”
“I’m asking you to help save people.” Steve replied, “You just need to tolerate him.”
Tony gave him a dry smile. Almost stumbling into the desk as he moved past it, the inventor rolled and slunked his way towards the doorway.
“We’ll see how long that lasts.”
***
Thor had been standing at the edge of his room for near twenty minutes. His body lacked the power to move forwards, his mind too heavy as he stared at the square hammer that rested in the centre. Many thoughts lingered, none pleasant. Regrets, fears, self-loathing. It all struck and beat at the mighty god until his feet became the heaviest part of his body. A warrior with the blood of hundreds on his hands, thousands more indirectly, was unable to move from his spot. A magical heirloom that only served the mighty. A terrifying concept when the prince of a realm could barely move it beyond a metre. He didn’t blame the hammer. He was far from perfect or even worthy. A failed prince, a failed warrior, a poor soul in the universe. Over and over, the thoughts and molten emotions spun within his body, making Thor grimace and close his eyes. Asgard was so far away, his family well beyond his reach, for he was well beyond their care. A failure as an Aesir, and a failure as a member of the family. Thor’s chest tightened, squeezing the air out of his lungs to the point of needing to actually touch his chest as he gasped for air.
“Enough.” He croaked.
He was well into his thousands, crossing fifteen hundred years. He had conquered armies, held back the great wolf, challenged mystics, fooled giants. Thor was not a slave to his mind, not anymore. Such words repeated over and over in his mind as he took several steps forward. As he stood directly above the hammer, Thor’s lungs imploded again. Every failure snapped and ripped and clawed and gnawed. It became difficult to focus on the room around him when he could hear voices that weren’t there. Horrid regrets and embarrassments whipped at his worth and pride, his eyes widening and weakening as it occurred. Eventually, Thor’s eyes snapped shut and he hissed.
“Something good.”
His tone was strong and determined. He was destined to face a demon that threatened a world for the innocent and caring. The God of Thunder would not yield so willingly, not when others would not even be given the chance to defend themselves or those that they care about. No. Thor would not let them suffer alone.
Thor did not flinch as the nails of one hand dug into his palm. He felt his fingers become sleek with very pale, red blood that pooled in his hand. The god exhaled. Tightening his jaw, Thor grabbed the handle of his hammer tightly. Passages of blood soon slid down his hand, trickling in thin lines down the padded handled of the hammer until tiny sections were massing on the hammer itself.
“I have fallen from my oath.” Thor’s voice was loud and fierce, like the thunder that he once commanded, “I have let my arrogance replace my honour. I have given the blood of my people in exchange for the blood of enemies. I have failed the realm of Asgard, and its people. I have failed the Nine Realms, and those that suffered.”
Thor hesitated as Odin’s voice whispered in his ears. Freyja’s sobbing frame appeared before him. Loki’s enraged punched collided with his chest. Bauldur and Holdur’s betrayed shouts rung through the room. Every single battle that Thor raged within cut through his mind, each one hurting his chest. His attention to the room was null, as he remembered the desire to conquer Jotunheim at all costs. The innocent giants that he mocked and challenged to brutal challenges to the death. The horrific sound of his own victorious laughter as he paraded around the corpse of someone that didn’t want to fight. Thor, Prince of Asgard, the cruel enforcer of Asgard. It was almost enough for Thor to let go of his hammer. He almost did, only just noticing that his grip was almost completely gone. The god tightened his bleeding hand around it further, so much so that he gritted his teeth as tears formed in his old eyes.
“No more. I swear this, I will not wield Mjolnir, relic of Asgard, as a weapon of slaughter, but as a tool of peace. I shall not lift you in anger or rage, nor shall I use you for glorious savagery. I will lift you only for those that cannot raise a weapon. I shall throw you at those that harm the small and innocent. I shall shatter only those that strike the innocent and pure. I swear this not in the Odin, but in the name of the Nine Realms.” Thor spat, tears running down his cheeks and into his thick beard, “And if I stray from this vow, use your power and mine, and strike me dead when I wield you. This is my oath as Thor, God of Thunder.”
The blood had fallen down the two sides of the hammer and split perfectly in two directions on each surface. Soon, a thick, downwards triangle encased the rune at the centre of the hammer’s surfaces. A triangle of blood that sunk into the metal before vanishing, revealing a triangular engraving with many smaller runes and tales within. Thor staggered back, his eyes never leaving his hammer. Step by step, the god reached his door. There was a moment of great unease, as memories and torturous words slowly circled his mind once more. Thor didn’t not respond to them. Instead, he merely raised his hand and called out within his mind. The room shook so violently that the mattress to his right moved several inches. His hand throbbed with a strong back as Mjolnir collided with his open palm. Thor took in the deepest, most relieving breath of air that he had ever taken. A pressure that was crushing was now freed from his chest. He did not allow himself too much joy, however.
His bloodied hand clutching his weapon that was stained with his own blood, the mighty Aesir strode from his room with heavy legs. His face was blank, emotionless as he crossed the corridors and stairs. Level by level, he rose through the building whilst ignoring the thudding in his chest. Soon, the man arrived upon the rooftop of the Sanctum Santorum. A calm, dark evening met him. Foreign stars with different figures in the sky above glanced down at him. It made his feet heavier, for one showed Asgard. Yet, he did not waver or stop. The god stood in the centre and closed his eyes. Silence. It was a quiet night, with only his heart in his ears. A heart so terrified of himself and his own actions. Thor did not allow himself to be overcome by his own mind. With a scream, the hammer of Thor was held to the sky. The sky quaked, the darkness brown by purple and yellow strands of light. The god’s cheeks were wet once more, but with rain. Roars and drums of thunder echoed in the sky as several bolts of lightning eagerly raced to kiss Mjolnir. The god’s very veins pulsed and twitched with pleasure and strength. The circular patterns shone grey and blue, whilst the recently crafted triangular rune glowed a wonderous yellow. The skies erupted in a brilliant light as Thor, the God of Thunder, was welcomed once more by them.
***
The sound of the thick doors opening made Hank sigh. His attempts to sleep had been abandoned after Tony’s drunken breakdown, for he guessed that his old rival would be staggering his way back at some point. The physicist rested his book on his lap, and he rose into a sitting position as he did his best to ignore the grumpiness that going days without sleep caused. There was no malice in his body as he watched his guest come near. Without thought, Hank felt his body rise into a standing position as his heartrate increased to the point of pain. Janet slowly stepped closer to the glass, her footsteps tempered by clear nerves. It was an action that made Hank lower his head in disgust. His own wife was scared to be near him. He had truly fallen below that of even Tony Stark, and that was a horrifying thought.
“Tony was right. You look a lot better now.”
Janet’s voice was soft, but genuine. For some reason, hearing those words and having a clear mind to register them made Hank’s eyes crease. It hurt. The shame and pain hurt him so sharply and suddenly that it almost made him disorientated. Unfortunately, Hank was fully aware of where he was and how he had gotten there.
“I am…so sorry.” Hank breathed loudly, each word taking considerable effort to get out, “I don’t…I can’t even think of what to…,” He closed his eyes and roughly hit his head on the glass, only to rest his forehead against it, “I’m sorry, Jan.”
The small woman didn’t say anything. She didn’t trust herself. It was an honest relief given by God to see Hank so alive once more. Whilst his eyes were red and puffy, that was no doubt due to being so tired. His skin was no longer so disgusting and sweat. His movements were not erratic. To her profound joy, there was no bite or cruelty to his voice. There was just a quiet man that clearly didn’t know how to communicate well. The quiet man that she knew that she was going to marry in high school. It had been a very long few weeks, and there were arguably the worst in her entire life. Due to that, seeing Hank in a relatively normal condition was overwhelming to say the least.
“I,” She cleared her throat, “I managed to fix it, Hank. Strange and I.” Hank knitted his eyebrows together, “The Pym Particle. We found a variation of the formula that has no side effects. We ran the tests on…We ran the tests countless times using magic and our equipment, it all works. I didn’t feel anything, and-”
“What?” Hank asked quietly, his voice hitching, “You…Jan. No, God. No. Why? Look what it did to me. What it could do to you. Please. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“We tested it on dozens of near human subjects. There’s no side effects. I didn’t feel awesome, or bad, or anything. I felt like me.”
Hank’s eyes were squeezed shut in anguish. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything as the fear of ruining his wife’s life even more so hit him. Hurting her and upsetting her to the point of tears wasn’t enough, it seemed. Needing to ruin her mind as well was also on the table. He was not a good husband. In fact, Janet would have been a lot safer without him. The media was right. He was a terrible suitor for such a beautiful woman.
“I don’t care.” Hank murmured, his eyes still closed, “It almost ruined us. It…It brings out the worst in you. Me. You can’t take it, Jan. If you take one piece of advice from me, it’s that. That, and just leave. I’m not good for you. I’ve done nothing recently, but hurt you. The stupid affair rumours in the news, your own family lecturing you, the vampires, messing with S.H.I.E.L.D., me…Me becoming…such a horrible was-”
“Hey.”
Janet’s voice was trembling. Hank looked up, seeing her quivering lip as she slowly placed her opened palm on the glass. Without hesitation and with tears now forming, Hank placed his own palm in front of it. The raw pain of feeling the glass between them made Hank cough and sob, a foul look of severe pain in his eyes.
“Hey.” Janet repeated, getting him to look at her again, “I love you. I have always loved you. It was the serum that ruined your head, not you. And I’ve fixed it. I know you’re scared, but trust me. I’m not going to fail you again.”
“You never did.” Hank sobbed, “I was…so desper-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Janet hissed, her eyes widening at her own tone, “We…both were desperate. But let’s be honest, I was whispering in your ear. The serum was both of our mistakes. It’s the Pym Particle, not the Hank Particle. We did this together. The particle is stable now. Trust me, like I’ve always trusted you.”
Janet was opening crying now, and Hank could only glare at the sight. He couldn’t even hold her. The anger that he felt at that fact almost made him slam a fist into the glass. He didn’t though. He only wept silently as he watched his wife do the same.
“I do trust you.” Hank managed.
“Good.” Janet exhaled, sniffing, “Because we still have to deal with Varnae, and we need the Pym Particles for that. They’re too special not to use. I need to help Steve.”
Hank closed his eyes again. He made a fleeting wish to be anywhere but in the situation that he was in. Fantasies about being at home with Janet, or working on more forms of portable computers played in his mind. None of them brought satisfaction, for he was stuck in a magical cell with a vampire threatening his wife. A wife that he dragged into the mess to begin with. He could try and argue for her to run, to ignore the danger, but he knew her too well. The woman that he loved was stubborn and caring, too much for her own good. In most cases, it was endearing. Within the current circumstance, it was terrifying.
“Okay.” He croaked, opening his eyes to look at her in the eyes, “But get me out of here. There is no way I am losing you. I can’t, Jan. So, you get me out of here. Now, before you do anything stupid.” He pleaded, his eyes falling to the hand that he could not hold.
***
“He’s stable, and we need all the help that we can get.” Janet continued.
She was standing across from Steve within one of the many seating areas of the Sanctum. Jennifer was sitting between them, her face uncertain as she mewled over Janet’s argument. The three of them were strung and pulled from countless hours without sleep, hindering Janet’s ability to make a sound argument and Jennifer’s ability to analyse issues closely. Steve did his best to listen to Janet’s points, but admittedly found himself struggling as well. Despite their attempts, Thor and Strange could not be found, and there was still the issue of Hank and his stability. He was still an unknown, with previous evidence making him a liability in a combat zone. As nice of a man as he was without the serum, Steve was extremely reluctant to risk the lives of others if he were to have another episode.
"He wants to make up for how he acted.” Janet pressed, her voice almost desperate, “Please.”
Jennifer rubbed her eyes.
“Janet,” She said softly, “We still don’t know the exact effects of your vers-”
“We do.” Janet’s teeth were gritted, “We literally do. I can show you the data. It won’t impact his brain.”
“Any more than the previous version already has.” Steve pointed out, his tone soft and careful, “We still don’t know if there were any long-term side effects from what Hank exposed himself to.”
“Strange checked him several times, and didn’t believe there was any permanent damage or effects. He’s the only doctor here, despite mistakes he made.” Janet hastily added, just as Jennifer opened to counter, “What more do you want? He’s stable.”
Steve did not want to speak on the clear bias of her point. Hank was her husband, and his suffering and imprisonment during his ordeal had obviously caused her severe pain. Unfortunately, that did not remove the several rather acute implications that could occur should an unstable or volatile Hank be released, let alone exposed to yet another version of the formula. He trusted Janet, he even trusted Hank, but they were both human. Humans made mistakes, and they were dealing with mystical threats that outnumbered and outgunned them. It all left Steve with an unpleasant conclusion in his mind. Thinking his wording carefully, he shifted on his footing. Jennifer was of a similar conclusion, not knowing how to break it to Janet that her husband was still recovering, and was arguably a danger to himself and others during such a period.
“Janet, I think we nee…”
Steve’s eyebrows met and his lips gaped slightly. The Cloak of Levitation was flying through several of the exposed doors up the doorway. Using the bottom of its fabric, it even managed to open door handles to peek inside several rooms before hastily moving on. Jennifer sat up, just as perplexed as Steve was. Before anyone could commentate on the nervous clothing item, the red cloak appeared to notice that Steve was before it. Within an instant, it zipped past Janet and wrapped itself around Steve.
“Um, what…What’s wr-Wait!”
Steve’s confusion turned to panic as he was pulled off of the ground. Both Janet and Jennifer launched forwards, both trying to grab a foot each as the cloak flew with its prey. Adrenaline poured into Steve’s veins as he was pulled away. The speed grew and grew as he turned left, right, right, left, up, up and up. His stomach turned in a sour way as he lost sight of the women. His attempts to call out at the cloak failed as he was flung through a window, his body shivering as the rain decorated his arms and face. The cloak wrapped its collar around Steve’s face, appearing to shield it from the rain. It clearly wasn’t trying to harm him, even if it was a kidnapping attempt. His arms reach upwards, trying to grab at the material. The cloak was nimble, somehow able to support the enormous man dozens of feet up from the air whilst avoiding his hands. Eventually, Steve gave up and closed his eyes. His stomach was less cruel without having to see so many buildings and features vanish around him so quickly.
The horror lasted several minutes, and when the soldier was gently placed on his feet, he immediately gagged. His body was so tense that it was difficult for him to walk properly, even to the nearest bin in the event that he lost his battle with his nausea. After almost an entire minute, Steve was able to stand straight. The cloak was now holding his hand, tugging him forwards in what could be described as panic. It gave him rough jerks, offering him little time for questions. There were about a third of the way up the Williamsburg Bridge, with the city lights shining through the rain. The road was relatively quiet, with only a few cars coming past every few seconds. The cloak tugged harder, forcing Steve into a near jog until he came by one of the bridge supports. Though it was hard to see in the shadows and the evening darkness, there appeared to be a figure standing at the very edge of the bridge. He had snuck past the railing and his feet was pressed at the end of a maintenance support, his face looming over the waters below. Steve stopped. His eyes were wide, and his breathing became very deep. Not knowing what to expect, he turned to the cloak with an opened mouth. The Cloak of Levitation ruffled its cloak, a show akin to a man tugging at his own hair.
“Stephen.” The soldier called out.
Strange didn’t say or do anything. His mind was not amongst the living. As he peered into the waves below, all he could hear was the sounds of his friends, his teachers, those that gave him a second chance, dying. Steve Rogers could have been screaming, yet Strange would not have flinched. Even in the darkness, his form could be seen as clearly hunched and sagged. His arms rested without purpose at his sides, and his chest barely rose with each breath.
“Doctor Stephen Strange.” Steve called out, taking a step closer.
The cloak ruffled itself again in anxiety. Steve waved at it, making it stop its panic attack. The captain made several hand gestures, praying that the cloak could understand despite not having eyes and it being well past three in the morning. To his utter relief and mild concern, the cloak seemed to nod. Only time would tell if it actually understood his silent commands. Steve took a step forward, his heart easing in relief as he saw the cloak vanishing to side out of the corner of his eye. It had been able to understand his first hand gesture, at least.
“It’s me, Steve Rogers. Doctor, I’m going to need to ask you to take a step back.”
Strange did not move. His shadowy form lingered by the edge. Steve was a soldier, a captain, a fighter. He was also well out of his depth with this particular event. He had seen shellshock before. In ruined towns, men would be wondering aimless with chattering teeth and fingers rubbed raw and exposed. The sound of a bottle of beer popping open was enough to trigger dry heaving. In the worst of cases, fellow captains would enter the rooms of ‘nervous and jittery’ soldiers only to find their minds splayed out on the wall. Each fellow captain told Steve the same thing, their bodies would be against the floor with tears on their cheeks. Their empty guns were never too far away from that. Steve had been fortune to avoid such a cause of death amongst his men, but having met some of the returned veterans from World War Two and Vietnam, he knew the toll the mind had a person. It was due to that knowledge that Steve found himself terrified, far more so than when facing even vampires. He knew how to fight, after all. He did not know how to talk a man off of a bridge.
“Just same something, anything.” Steve called out gently, “So I know that you can hear me.”
There was nothing. Steve bit his lip, noticing that the Cloak of Levitation was still not in position. The only hope that Steve had was that Strange was still seated by the edge, his feet dangling by the rails.
“Okay, I’ll talk. Look, I’m not going to…lie, I’m not really sure what to say right now. I’m not sure anything that I would say would actually help.” He chuckled poorly, “But I do owe you something. You have saved my life, and Peter’s, and Hank’s. Hank’s apparently recovering really well, and Janet says it’s all thanks to you.”
Steve’s jaw clenched so hard that it hurt as he awaited to hear something, anything. It was the worst silence that he had heard in many years. He took a very carefully, controlled step forwards.
“You’ve made mistakes. Massive ones. So has everyone. You also helped bring us all together. You’ve saved lives, Doct-”
“I’m not a doctor anymore.”
Strange’s tone was so broken that Steve’s eyes narrowed in pain by proxy. It was leathery, and croaked with every syllable. The sorcerer did not move or say anything further, leading Steve to continue.
“Yes, you are. You’re a healer. You’ve healed a lot of people. Like I said, Peter wouldn’t be here with-”
“Peter would not be fighting vampires…if it wasn’t for me. Another victim.”
“Then fix him. Remove the problem, and help me stop Var-”
“I am.” Strange’s voice was eerily calm, “The problem that started all of this.”
Steve took another step closer, doing so as quietly as he could. Strange still did not move. There was only two metres between, but it was still far too much distance for Steve to leap and tackle Strange without the latter having enough time to jump. A shaky breath left the super soldier.
“You didn’t create Varnae, or make him a monster. You didn’t make him kill anyone.”
“Do…Do you know what a facilitator is?”
“You were manipulated.”
“That’s no excuse for murder.” Strange’s tone shifted into the smallest amount of loathing.
Steve took another step forwards, his heart hurting as it raced.
“You didn’t kill them, Strange. You can’t keep-”
“Enough, just enough.” Strange spat, the edge of a sob beginning to break through, “Enough! Enough! Should…Should never have become sorcerer…” Sobs coloured his hate-filled words as he grew louder, “Should have…Should have died on this bridge the first time.”
“The accident? It was here.”
Steve’s sense of dread sharpened and the air became very cold, even amongst the rain. Strange had come to the place where he had lost his hands and almost died. A place where the only reason that he did survive was due to the appearance of another sorcerer offering her aid. The fact that he came back to this site of all places made Steve’s face taut and flinch often.
“The first time I killed someone was here. Some…poor damn shopkeeper. Should’ve died with her!” Strange cried, his body shifting slightly, “No Doctor Stephen Strange, Varnae, no vampires, no deaths. It should’ve ended here. It shou-”
A shadow wrapped around Strange’s body and Steve ran forward, hoping to halt the spell. It was no spell. The shadow was met with shocked screams and shouts as it roughly pulled Strange from the edge, dragging him deeper onto the bridge. Strange roared and wailed, flailing as the Cloak of Levitation abruptly and arguably violently threw his shaking body onto the ground. Steve jumped on him immediately. The sorcerer cried out as Steve held his crippled hand tightly, interweaving his fingers with his own and preventing any spell from being cast. The cloak did the same with the other hand. The bottom of the fabric snaked around the top of Strange’s head and down around his jaw, pulling the sorcerer’s jaw shut tightly. Strange screamed loudly, his eyes seeing red as he ripped and pulled and thrashed like a beast that would not be tamed. Steve only watched in pity and in sadness as he waited for Strange to get it out of his mind. It took almost a full minute before the screaming turned into crying. Tears stained the Cloak of Levitation as Strange’s muzzled sobs lifted through the otherwise silent bridge. Steve sighed, but did not let him go. He didn’t trust Strange in the slightly. So, he and the cloak waited as the second man cried and broke down. The wails turned into broken sobs, which eventually became silent sniffs as Strange stared at the rainy sky with misery in his soul.
“You don’t have the right to do this.” Steve said, his own voice croaky, “You don’t, Stephen. Not when you’ve hurt so many people.”
Strange’s eyes slowly crawled to the side, offering the sorcerer a watery view of the man holding him down.
“You did let Varnae in. I know. It was a mistake, though. One that you can fix. You have no right to be so damn selfish to just run away from that. Not when we have a chance to stop him, and we don’t without you. You can throw yourself off of the bridge right now, or you can not. What’s the difference? The second one has you fixing this. The second one has you stopping anyone else from dying because of Varnae. If you’re so determined that Varnae is your mistake, then do something about it! There is nothing to be changed if you just kill yourself, Strange. You’re a doctor. You’re smart. Think the logic through. You’re fixated on a problem that can’t be changed, and you’re selfish and arrogant enough to ignore the problem that actually can be changed.”
Strange’s breathing was heavy, so much so that his entire body was shaking, though that could have been from the rain and the damp ground. His eyes were quivering, but it did not look like with rage. The sorcerer was silent, his eyes fixed on Steve. Eventually, the cloak eased its hold on Strange’s jaw. He gently rolled his jaw before shaking his head softly.
“I…Steve, I can’t.” More tears formed, “I can’t fight him. I’m not the best. I never was. The Sorcerer Supreme was slaughtered in minutes.”
“Then avenge the man that took you in. He helped you, right? He didn’t turn his back on you. He deserves someone to stand for what he did.”
“And that’s not me.” Strange sobbed.
“You rallied with us, you helped us find clues, and you’ve faced vampires with us. Stop lying to yourself. Yes, you’re not the best. Yes, our odds aren’t great. And yes, you’re the last sorcerer left.” Steve stated with conviction, his strong face leaning above Strange’s, “At least some of your life is still here for you to rebuild. I went to sleep and woke up with everything gone, Stephen. Everyone, and everything, because I left. You can rebuild. Don’t you see that? And even if we don’t succeed, do you want to be remembered as the sorcerer who tried fixing his own mistake, or the one that ran from it?” Steve waited a moment to let the words sink in, “What would the Sorcerer Supreme deserve from you?”
As he finished, Steve let go of Strange’s hand and sat up. The Cloak of Levitation fluttered somewhat, seemingly disapproving heavily of the lack of restraints. The soldier nodded to it, pressuring the magical object to reluctantly let go. Strange cupped his shaking hands, his body shivering in the cold as he choked back weakened sobs. The faces of all those that were dead still appeared whenever he blinked. It was almost sickening. So much so that Strange’s hands had already begun moving to form a portal spell, the chance to remove such memories too alluring to ignore.
“I have faith in you, Stephen. I really do.”
Strange’s hands stopped. The sorcerer’s mind was wrapped in images of Varnae’s horrific roars and the bloodied screams of his friends. Friends that would soon be joined by those that had recently come to his sanctuary, a teenager among them. The guilt resurfaced immediately, whispering warm thoughts of an abyss from the pain. A respite from failure. A softness. Strange looked to his side, noticing that the Cloak of Levitation was gently flicking away from of the dirt that had been caked onto his back. Noticing that attention had been put on it, the cloak stopped.
“I can’t do this.” Strange whispered, looking up at Steve with vulnerable eyes.
“We can. Together. I’m asking for faith, that’s all. The same faith in me that I have in you. The same faith that the Sorcerer Supreme had in you.”
The mention of his mention made Strange wince as if struck. The man that Strange had failed. The main Strange found always smiling and warm, even sneaking him more books to read, despite his instructors advising otherwise. A man that deserved to be remembered until the end of the sorcerers, which Strange had no doubt caused. The doctor grimaced, fighting back more tears as he shook his head. Their roles should have been reversed. The others would have easily formed ranks around the elderly sorcerer. Strange had been a mild aid, at best. The greatest sorcerer of the age, killed by a cruel ape that was unleashed by his own student. He did deserve better. A horrid section of Strange’s mind whispered a cold compromise. If he were lucky, he’d die whilst bringing Varnae to hell with him. A situation where everyone got what they deserved.
Steve said nothing as he watched Strange slowly push himself up. He didn’t want to add any further pressure or emotional distress. The cloak was hastily at the sorcerer’s side, offering itself as an umbrella to the withering man. Strange was silent as he began walking along the bridge, Steve soon at his side. The pair had no warmth in their eyes, just a darkened acceptance at what had just happened. It was some time before either of them spoke.
“You won’t survive this.” Strange whispered, barely audible above the rain.
“I know.” Steve nodded, “But with you, we all have a chance. Humanity included, doctor.”
***
It had been some time since any had interrupted Varnae. Many of his underlings were scattered throughout the world, taking out their loss of a brother on the hunt for Varnae’s relic. They had spoken so little words before leaving, but so had Varnae. The giant orangutan was curled within his quarters. For hours at a time, he would ponder at memories of Hannibal. Whilst not his favourite son, like any father, the ape had a love for Hannibal that was entirely reserved for him. The type that stung whenever Varnae played with his memories. It was wicked how venomous loss could turn pleasant memories. No matter how much Varnae reflected, Hannibal was dead. He died by the hands of a mere outcasts, outcasts that he should have killed. He would have, and he almost did. The last utterances of Atlantean culture cut into his ears as his rage threatened to turn to violence. He was not a beast. He was from the pinnacle of culture itself. Acting like a mere…monkey would degrade both himself and his society. Hannibal’s life would be remembered for many generations to come. Varnae was determined to ensure that his memories of Hannibal were amongst the first concepts poured through the Cul’nir.
The Cul’nir. The Great Teacher. The only viable way of resurrecting the Atlantean culture. The only reason why Varnae had lost a son, and why so many humans and even lesser vampires had died. In only a few months, the bloodshed had become barbaric and severe, almost distasteful to the ape. He was not violence or death. Strength and discipline were needed for any society or organisation to survive and thrive. War was sometimes needed to preserve one’s way of life. Yet, Varnae could not shift the questioning as to what it was for. Throughout the passing day, a guilty consideration festered in his mind: perhaps the Atlantean culture had its time. Perhaps, it was simply part of the world that it lived in, and was not above it. Cultures were born, expanded and collapsed. It was the cycle of Earth’s existence. Atlantis was only a dot within a much larger globe. Perhaps Varnae was clinging to a long dead whisper, and running after echoes.
Such thoughts were hastily crushed with the severe conviction that Varnae held in his heart. Atlantis was a land of peace and technological wonder. Humanity would cling to its boots once more, and Varnae would offer humanity a redemption from the sickness that they had fallen in to. Yet, that did not stop the questioning thoughts from emerging every so often. At times when Varnae felt the strongest, there was a sudden urge to simply stop. He had travelled the cosmos for centuries, and seen wonders before this world. He could reach beyond the realms. There was no need to stay on Earth and resurrect his culture. He could simply leave, and possibly have a better life. Such thoughts only hurt Varnae’s chest, making him almost desperate to avoid such a feeling. The addition of the loss of a son only added to the emotional turmoil, leaving Varnae to brood within his abode. For once, he was actually happy to be separate from his remaining children. It gave him time to reflect in peace.
It was a peace that was soon cut. Varnae smelt the man before he heard the nod at the door. A deep ‘oow’ vibrated from his throat, and the door was opened immediately. The vampire looked like one of Jia’s. She had a particular aesthetic for her inner circle. Prim and proper, with elegant manners to boot. The vampire before him was groomed to the point of looking like a doll. His hair was perfectly cut into a bowl, his suit had not a single stain or sign of a wrinkle, and his skin-tone was perfectly even with the thinnest layer of powders and creams. He bowed politely, a package in hand.
“Lord Varnae.”
The ape ‘ooww’ed and gestured for the man to continue. He was given a nod of appreciation in return.
“Mistress Jia sends for you immediately. We have…some promising news from a small isle near Andros. May I?”
The vampire held up the package. Varnae nodded, offering him his leathery hand. The vampire placed the object within the ape’s grip and retuned to the entrance of the room, awaiting further instruction. Varnae hastily pulled open the document, letting several printed photographs drop onto his lap. He picked each of them up, inspecting them closely. Already poor in quality, the inscriptions on brick walls could be made out clearly. A specific type of fish that the Atlanteans nicknamed ‘wisdom wavers’ for the way that they seemed more clever than many other species. Some of the photos showed a wall, no, a door. A door covered in Atlantean words. From the quality, it was hard to exactly see the wording, but it appeared to be a proclamation. A statement of the need to teach the young. The large, several metre long carving of the wisdom waver rested before the sermon. The Cul’nir.
Whatever insecurity or second guessing that Varnae felt struck him sharply. It was real, and he had found it. His plan had actually bared fruit, and it only cost the life of a son. The ape closed his eyes, growing mournful. If only Hannibal had survived a few more days…No, his death would be worth it. He would be remembered for his sacrifice. Humanity would know his name, and be grateful. Varnae would ensure it. He had come across the cosmos for this, and he would not be alone any longer.
“Go…get others. We will…meet at site.”
***
Steve sipped at his tea, only to wince slightly. Tea was not for him, it seemed. It tasted bland and did not seem to waken him up, as Jennifer had suggested. It was a shame, as Jennifer was quite excited to see his reaction. He smiled politely as he placed the cup on the entertaining room table, but Jennifer wasn’t an idiot. Even when as exhausted as she was, she could tell that the liquid simply didn’t agree with him.
“It’s okay,” She smiled sadly, “I’m not offended.”
“More of a coffee man.” Steve smiled.
A blur of movement made the erratic and sleepy Jennifer almost transform. Only when she saw that it was Jackie did she allow herself to ease back into the sofa. The redhead rolled her eyes at Steve, clearly disgruntled at his comment. There wasn’t much humour in her eyes, unfortunately. The girl’s chin was to her chest, and when she walked to sit across from Jen, it was like watching a wounded sheep. Time. The poor girl needed time to process what she had learnt. One of Steve’s many regrets about the situation with Varnae was that Jackie didn’t get any period to come to terms with her life, or even how it came to be. Jennifer, also noticing how crestfallen Jackie was, had her mind go into overdrive.
“I’m fine with both. I guess you could call me…bi-caffeine. Get…Get it?” Her cheeks became increasingly red as both Jackie and Steve stared at her in silence, “It’s a…I imple…”
“Not the best wisecrack.”
Jen’s embarrassment turned into a sneer as Peter leapt onto the other end of her seat, his body perched on the cushions like some giant bird. The smug grin that he gave her only fuelled her annoyance. To add the uttermost insult to injury, Maxxie raced around the couch after him, only to jump onto the space between the two humans. Content with two sources of warmth, the pug nestled and yawned.
“But leave the sarcasm to me.” Peter suggested, “It’s how I distract criminals. Makes it hard to focus a gun when you’re being insulted about your chances of early onset arthritis.”
Jennifer snorted, turning her attention away from Peter’s feedback. Her hands gently massaged Maxxie’s back, lulling her into a near sleeping state.
“Back from cheating on me?” She whispered, only receiving a faint snore in response.
“So,” Peter’s smile was nervous as he leaned back into the sofa, “Varnae…We, uh, all on the same page now…or…half? A third? How many are…”
“No idea.” Steve admitted, “We’ll see when some of us get some sleep. But,” His eyes jumped from Jackie, to Jennifer, and to Peter, “Are we all still on board with this? Fighting Varnae.”
Jackie’s jaw tightened, and she was quick to look down and stare at the armrest. She was the first to nod, though it was a small one that took much effort.
“Well, yeah. Don’t…really have much else on. I mean, school’s in a bit. Might wanna ring ahead and say I’m sick. You know, so I can sleep. For once. It’s been, maybe, two days now, and I’m starting to hear things that I don’t think are there. Is anyone else havin-”
“I’m still here.” Jennifer nodded, earning her own glare from Peter, “We need to move fast, though. We need to track down a lieutenant or someone that Varnae talks to. We need to cut the head off of the snake.”
“Or go for the lesser win, and just destroy the device before Varnae can use it.”
Steve looked up and smiled faintly as Janet and Tony walked into the room. Well, Janet walked. Tony staggered and tripped his way through several sets of cushioned wooden chairs. His hands were tightly holding some drink that Janet had forced into them, and as soon as he sat next to Jackie, he proceeded to drink heavily. With an obnoxious sigh, he lowered the cup and turned to Jackie, suddenly aware of who he was sitting next to.
“Do you eat solids?”
“For the love of God, Tony.” Janet muttered to herself, cupping her head in her hands, “Ignore him. He still has half a bar in his bloodstream.”
“The fun half, too.” Tony snickered.
Much like Jackie, there was not much light in his eyes as he laughed. The chuckles also lasted slightly too long, given both Steve and Janet the impression that he was determined to convince everyone that he was happy. He would do well, were it not for the vacant nature of his eyes whenever he believed that no one was looking at him. Jackie exhaled loudly, and turned to look at him.
“I can eat them, it just doesn’t stop hunger. Can you eat solids?”
“I mean, probably. Not as fun, though.” Tony muttered darkly, his attempt at humour dying halfway through the first sentence, “Varnae, Varnae, Varnae.” Tony sighed, “Let’s just bomb the fucking temple or ruin…or whatever.”
“We don’t know where it is.” Jennifer mentioned, and Tony was quick to roll his head towards Jackie.
“No ideas? No secrets? No little…insider job you wanna…” Tony’s words panned out with a lame shrug.
“No.” Jackie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, “I don’t know anything. The soldiers, the lower ones, the…me’s. We were never told a word of anything. Not even our carers were told. We need to find someone in his top ranks.”
“Which will no doubt be his first creations. The twelve, or eleven, original vampires.” Steve stroked his chin, “Which means finding one is our next step.”
Steve did not consider mentioning the fact that Nick Fury had the names of said vampires. Until Fury actually produced anything of worth, perhaps it was worth not mentioning that fact. Steve was reluctant to harm the fragile peace with further information that may offend or anger them.
“And when we do?” Jackie continued, “These vampires are as strong as me, but with thousands of years of experience. They’re not going to just chat about the artefact’s location.”
“They shall know the terror that we can offer them, if they refuse to speak reason.”
The group was silent as loud, cracking footsteps boomed within the room. Tony dropped his drink, once again reconsidering if he had taken LSD at some earlier time of the evening. Thor stepped between Jackie and Jennifer’s sofa, his eyes as brighter as a star. His body was crackling and spurting off tiny amounts of lightning, each coming off of an entirely new set of armour. Whereas his old set had been grey and blue like the skies, this set was bright and strong to the eye. His arms were exposed, but his chest was covered in yellow, purple and blue, the shards of metal cut in a set of unique patterns that showed Asgardian runes and symbols. His cloak was a shinier material, worthy of royalty, and a dark navy blue. Then there was his hammer. The circular pattern shone a brilliant stormy grey, but there was also a new patter. A downward triangle that glowed a yellow that matched lightning.
"You, um, get some Gatorade into you?” Tony muttered, still not aware that his feet were soaked.
“I know not of this elixir, but I have come to terms with my shame. I owe you all an apology, and I hang my head before you. I was a failed prince of Asgard, but I will not be failed protector of Midgard. I intend to fight this demon and, if you will have me, I wish to fight at your side. I understand if you do not wish it so, but I shall still be fighting, even if on my own.”
The room was still busy registering the show of armour before them. Even Maxxie had awoken, but that was mainly to smell at the stain that Tony had made. Steve, however, rose. The others watched as the soldier walked towards the giant of an Aesir and offer him his hand. A humble smile was on Steve’s face.
“Just as long as you remember why you’re fighting.”
Thor looked at Steve’s hand, and nodded silently. A moment later, Steve was wincing as the strongest hand on the planet squeezed his own.
“Killer armour.” Peter grinned, but Tony grunted.
“Mine’s better, idiot.”
“Tony.” Janet hissed quietly, “So, we find the vampire, we capture one, we…interrogate, then hunt the artefact. Seems…”
“Vague.” Jennifer finished, her face scrunched in concern.
“What if they don’t know…” Peter mumbled, his face creased in concern, “What if…What if Varnae’s left them out of the loop. We go all the way around the world, and we still can’t get anything out of anyone. It’s a goose chase.”
The possibility sunk in with the gathered lot. Jackie twitched.
“Varnae did seem like the paranoid type. And powerful. If it’s possible for him to do it all by himself, he would.”
“Then why make the army?” Jennifer countered.
“Even the best of leaders can’t fight a war by themselves.” Steve agreed, “He needs them for something. Even just manual labour, maybe.”
“Or their resources and connections, given Varnae hasn’t been on Earth for centuries.” Another voice called.
Janet rose before the sentence had concluded. A shabby man with dirty blonde hair was smiling anxiously in front of everyone. His clothes were fresh and new, and seemed too tight for him. Steve frowned, also rising to his feet. The common sight of distrust and unease pinged at Hank’s chest, making him look down. It was unfortunate, as the action prevented him from seeing a small figure collide into his chest. The man stumbled back, leaning against a chair as he felt small arms cut off feeling in his lower body. The smell of her hair. He had forgotten the smell of the mint shampoo that she was obsessed with. Nuzzling into it, Hank did his best to hide his tears and ignore the burning in his throat as held onto her as tightly as he could. They didn’t say anything. The pair just held each other, resting their cheeks against each other’s. Tony looked away, feeling both happy and uncomfortable at the sight of the reunited pair. It truly was love that the lucky prick had.
“How are you feeling?” Steve asked in a careful tone.
His body was tense, as if ready to move swiftly. Hank smiled dryly as he remained clinging to his wife.
“Never better. I…I made mistakes. A lot.” Hank turned to look at the gathered mass, “And I’m sorry. I’ll do better. And there won’t be any more issues.”
“How do we know?” Jennifer asked quietly, “I’m not trying to be harsh. We just don’t know enough about the effects of your serum.”
Hank nodded in agreement, knowing that he had no reasonable counter to her well founded point. Instead, he slipped an arm out from Janet’s hold and wiggled his wrist away from his sleeve. A tiny bracelet of bronze danced along his skin. One marked with glowing runes cut with a pale green mist.
“If I show any noticeable signs of change within my mental activity, I get teleported to…the cell.”
The sign of the magical item carved a sneer on Tony’s face. A sneer that only grew when he saw the last occupant on the house tread deeper into the room. Strange’s body was as hunched as ever, as if he were trying to hide his face from the others. His eyes were dark and sunk far into the pale, bony face around them. His clothes were new, at least. Steve would not have been surprised if he had stayed in the mud stained clothing for the evening given how detached he had been as they returned to the Sanctum.
Tony rose to his feet, buffing out his chest. Janet rolled her eyes and gave the drunken man a look of warning, one that he promptly ignored. Steve was quick to stand between them and, thankfully, Thor was already standing between them. Strange lowered his eyes as watched Tony’s display, not blaming him in the slightest. Then there was Jackie. A girl who looked as if she was countering the many ways that she wanted to murder Strange. He wouldn’t resist, not after finishing what he started.
“I…I started this.” The sorcerer wheezed, “I’ll finish it. Even if it kills me.”
“If only we’re so lucky.”
“Stark.” Steve warned, but Tony huffed.
“Remind me again why we’re here? Oh, that’s right. Him.”
“You’re right.” Strange nodded sombrely, “If I could exchange my life to reverse this, I would. Believe me on that. I hurt a lot of people.” His eyes drifted to a very still and hostile Jackie, “I can’t undo this. I’ll end it. Or…try to.” He mumbled miserably.
Tony looked as if he was about to be sick. Jennifer smiled politely, but was not entirely convinced. He was still liable in a criminal sense, after then. Then again, so was literally every other person in the room, even Peter. Jackie didn’t say a word, for she didn’t trust herself not to try to kill the man that was less than two metres away. It could be so quick at such a close distance. Suddenly, Thor took a step towards Strange, making the sorcerer weary.
“I have seen many monstrous mistakes, Strange,” Thor’s voice was solemn, “Many I have caused myself. I cannot be a man to lay judgement on a man such as you, as long as you undo the evil you have bred.”
Thor’s hand rested on Strange’s shoulder, making the sorcerer look a mixed of panicked and very socially uncomfortable. Tony snorted, but shut up hastily as soon as Thor looked at him directly in the eye. Hank and Janet were not paying attention to the scene. Rather, they were busy smiling softly to themselves as they patted and squeezed the one in their arms. Never once did their eyes stray apart, as they had more pressing concerns then Thor’s defence of Strange.
“We’ll see what evil you can undo.” Jackie muttered.
“Enough.” Steve spoke loudly, drawing the attention of everyone, “Strange is here to help, and frankly, we need everyone we can get. Focus on the task at hand. Hank, I can’t take ris-”
“You won’t be.” Hank said with determination.
“The serum isn’t in his system. I checked twenty minutes ago.” Strange added with a weak tone.
Steve stared at the doctor, seeing no lie in his eyes. Looking back, he was then met with the intwined embraced that the married couple were still in. Janet was glaring at him, challenging the soldier to put her husband back in the cell. It all led to Steve sighed, once again highly reluctant to risk the peace that was flimsy at best. He did trust Strange’s medical background, at the very least.
“So, we’re in this, okay? Together. I know we’re all upset at most of us, and we probably have a right to be. We don’t have the luxury of indulging that right now. We have too many people to avenge. If Varnae get this artefact, countless people could have their freedoms and minds taken away. Regardless of how he got here, Varnae needs to leave. On that, we agree?”
Several nods occurred, and Steve made a point of staring at everyone until all had nodded. Jackie was the last. As his mouth opened, the captain found himself being cut off.
“The Avengers.”
Many sets of eyes turned Peter. The teen’s cheeks turned very red but he cleared his throat to continue. He did, after all, stand by his idea.
“Our name. A team name. Avengers. We…avenge people…that Varnae killed or turned…right?”
The group stood in an awkward silence. Jennifer wasn’t entirely set on the name. In her mind, she preferred something with more…pizazz. Avengers just sounded too…bland. That being said, she didn’t want to hurt Peter’s feelings, and so remained quiet. That seemed to be the common consensus amongst the others. Even Janet did her best not too cringe or grimace. Tony, however, had no such filter in his current state. With a mocking scoff, he rolled his eyes.
“Okay, that’s the worst th-”
“The Avengers.” Thor’s voice boomed, covering Tony’s, “A worthy name for a worthy band of warrior. A strong reason behind the name. A cause to unite us.” Thor nodded with a growing smile, “The Avengers.”
Peter smiled widely, feeling his chest expand with pride and warmth as the god complimented him.
“You can’t be serious.” Tony shook his head.
It was honestly the dumbest thing that he had heard in a very long time, and was secretly hoping that he truly was hallucinating the day’s events. Between sobbing like a child in front of Hank Pym, agreeing to fight vampires, dealing with the idiot that started the whole mess, and now the atrocious name, it truly was a day that would be in his nightmares for years to come.
“I can think of worst names.” Hank chuckled, smiling down at Janet.
“An accurate one.” Jackie whispered to herself, the name growing on her.
Steve allowed himself a small smile, himself enjoying the name considerably. He gave a subtle wink to Peter before clearing his throat once more.
“Okay, then. Get some sleep. We’ll need it. Tomorrow, we deal with Varnae. Together, as the Avengers.”
***
A/N: Hi everyone! I hope that we’re well.
Thank you so much for reading this far, and I hope you’re enjoying it. We’re almost done! Sorry if this chapter was a bit long, I just didn’t know how to trim it without the decisions or character progressions seeming too rushed. There also wasn’t enough for two chapters, which was annoying haha.
I hope we’ve enjoyed the character progression in this story. I know this chapter dealt with some darker stuff, and hopefully it wasn’t too much without it not being handled too blandly. On a more positive note, it was fun giving his hammer back.
Next chapter will have a lot of emphasis on the children of Varnae, and the final confrontation with Varnae and the newly christened Avengers over the Great Teacher, showing how each team member has a value or specific skill that comes in handy. It will be mostly be action, with some resolution to Varnae’s story. Or…it’ll be two chapters because I struggle to surmise character growth. I apologise.
If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave kudos or a comment. They are honestly brilliant to see, and it’s fun chatting with you guys. Otherwise, have a lovely end to the week.
Fact of the chapter: Google’s original working name was ‘Backrub’. That isn’t a joke…
Chapter 15: A Feeble Dogma
Chapter Text
Hank did his best not to frown too deeply as he stood above the thick leather attire resting on a table. It was very similar to the previous model of impact absorbing materials. One that had been hastily reconstructed as a suit capable of administering the Pym Particle gas consistently throughout the body, rather than the swell of air as it was originally intended to. Unlike that suit, however, this was a far earlier version. Too few of the final model had even been made for one to be located within the crammed store centre during a single evening. They were quite lucky to even find any of the suits. It didn’t help that Hank had attempted to describe the suit to an evening security guard via a telephone call. Hank was not reckless enough to leave the Sanctum. There was every chance that the house was being circled and vampires were preparing to storm the gates. Varnae already had. It was far safer to have a van leave the parcel on the crowded street, where Hank could hastily retrieve it with witnesses about.
He shook his head, refocussing on the carefully adding the gas dispenser to the suit’s swelling system. His fingers gently twisted the belt’s centre until it clicked. A wave of air hissed from it as the circular gear was lifted. Several tiny rods full of pressured gas crept out from the compartment, each collected with a pair of tweezers. There was almost a dozen, for the amount of pressure needed to fill the suits empty pads was immense. The suit was just so thick, having originally been designed to minimise impact trauma or injuries. It would be difficult to move in, that was already certain. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. The aesthetics were also quite different. The outlines were a dark red, contrasting to the blue of the original suit. Hank did not mind too much. While he preferred blue in general, the red was a very subtle and complimentary colour to the black.
Then, there was the matter of the helmet. The original and, as of yet, only working version of the domed helmet was naturally offered to Janet. Crafting another one with such short time had not been pleasant. Tony had enough spare metal and tools that something could be mended and crafted, but it was not a pleasant sight. Rough signs of wielding decorated several sheets of metal. The gas mask at the front of the helmet was disproportionately larger than the rest of the helmet, but it would do its job. The bulb-like silver item rested next to its sibling, both having two radio antennae sticking out like it was something an alien would wear. It would work, Hank had no doubts about that. It was just so flimsy that a single hit would probably shatter it. Then again, they were dealing with vampires. A single hit would probably shatter any helmet of any material.
“Looks good.”
Hank’s lips curled into a tired smile. Without needing words of instruction, the man held the centre compartment to slightly off to his side. Several small vials of a potent red liquid were then slotted within it. The sight of the liquid drew an uncomfortable feeling from Hank, so much so that his hands had started to shake. A slightly lighter hued liquid had taken a toll beyond prediction on the man. A shy man that felt as if he could successfully challenge a dragon or climb the highest mountain with only the clothes on his back. It was a feeling that was not easily dismissed or forgotten. Such a welcomed confidence boost was extremely rare in life. It was also the same liquid that caused a complete breakdown and brought his wife to tears on multiple occasions. The sharpness of such memories stilled Hank’s hands. It was too late, however. Janet had already noticed the reaction.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Her tone was careful, but probing. Hank was very aware of how closely he was being watched in recent hours, especially by his wife. They would watch as he drifted from room to room, some more subtle than others. The feeling of being a severe disappointment, a possible danger at that, made him smile sombrely as he lowered his hands. With Janet holding the belt tightly, the pair carefully replaced the dispenser unit within the suit, finishing with a turn and an audible ‘click’. As he finished, Hank’s arm was raised. A bracelet with glowing runes still hugged his skin tightly.
“Haven’t been teleported back yet.” He paused, his eyes lingering on the particle dispenser, “I…I don’t know if I want the serum or not. I know that it’s an entirely different formula, and the mental effects are non-existent. Yet, I…Part of me still hopes it makes me feel as…Makes me feel like the other formula did. I don’t want the serum like I used to. I just…have a weird hope sometimes. But then, I don’t, too.” Hank sighed deeply, shaking his head as he straightened out the suit, “I don’t know what I feel.”
A gentle hand rested upon his, encouraging him to stop fiddling with the suit. Turning to look at her, Hank could see a mix of understanding and regret on Janet’s face. He utterly hated the latter.
“If you’re not feeling up to this…”
A sharp scowl met her words.
“I’m not letting you deal with vampires on your own. God, no. We’re in this together. Always have been.”
Janet gave him a tight, saddened smile.
“You don’t need to do this for me.”
“But I am.” Hank said truthfully, his hand taking its turn to squeeze hers, “And for others. We started our company to help the world, didn’t we? Now look. We’re helping it fight vampires.” Hank chuckled darkly, “Vampires. God. Not exactly what I was imagining when I agreed to help Captain America.”
It was a conversation that the pair had shared often within the last day. It was no doubt a processing method for the both of them, as the strange and bizarre weeks that had just preceded them would be something found in a novel. People of science, they were now dealing with mystic vampires, gods and sorcerers. Hank himself was having the hardest time comprehending recent events, even with a clean mind. He did not falter in his adamant desire to stay. Janet knew that he would never leave, not as long as she stayed. Part of her felt incredibly endeared by such a fact. Another part of her felt selfish, cruel even. That if she weren’t there, then Hank could remove himself from the danger entirely.
“I know.” Janet stated, repeating her usual answer, “But it’s the situation we’re in.”
“Yeah,” Hank’s tone turned darker as he stood across from her, “Thanks to Strange.”
“I know.” Janet admitted, “But he also helped you.” Janet quickly pointed out, “In multiple ways.”
“Yeah.”
Hank looked away, eventually finding his way over to the two domed helmets on the table beside them. Picking the original up, the scientist’s eyes narrowed as he closely inspected the various latches and signs of exhausted wielding. A grave concern lingered within his mind as he stared the blurry reflection upon the helmet. One that even his hope in his wife could not shake.
“Let’s just hope that he doesn’t screw us over.”
***
Whilst walking through a corridor of the Sanctum, Peter grimaced slightly as he brought his knee up to his chest, feeling both his thigh stretch as well as the tight material around it. To his utter joy, the sleek material didn’t tear or snap. Nor did it show any signs of doing so as he relaxed his leg. The red and blue suit remained as taut as ever. Peter’s harsh face evened out into a large grin. It really was a fantastic suit, even having a spider on the chest and back to suit the theme. The only downside to Janet’s gift was the uncomfortable feeling that the mask gave Peter. She had clearly put some radio equipment in the left side, making it rub comfortably against his ear and cheek. This became especially visible when he practiced jumping onto the ceiling. The friction was enough to make his cheek raw and red. Perhaps, one of the Pyms had a smaller transceiver? Or Strange could muster a spell to ease the friction?
It was such questions that filled Peter’s head as he walked towards the main entertaining room, mask in hand. He could hear muffled voices, but he didn’t pay them too much attention as he walked forwards. His eyes were locked onto the lenses of his mask as he further wondered how strong they were, and if they could handle a punch. It really was an awesome suit, in his opinion. He would need to give the Pyms something decent for Christmas. The voices grew louder, encouraging Peter to look up and notice several things.
Firstly, an internationally renowned circular shield was resting against one of the cushioned chairs. An object that still made Peter smile like an idiot whenever he saw it. Secondly, Steve was standing behind it, wearing the exact same uniform that he had worn during World War II. A suit that Peter had studied in school, and a suit that many assumed had been lost, along with the man that owned it. Even Steve, when asked many times by Peter, had stated that he thought it was ‘beyond what I can get now’. But there it was. A rugged, faded blue suit of padded leather and clothe, with the American stripes and stars decorating the midsection. A suit that was cut, shot up, burnt and still looked as marvellous as ever. And there it was, right before Peter’s eager eyes. He had to remind himself to breathe.
“Is that…”
As he began to swiftly step closer, he noticed on last thing. A tall, dark man with an eyepatch standing across from Steve. One framed by a dark coat, and what was obviously a handgun strapped to his left side. The man’s utter devoid expression produced an uncomfortable feeling in Peter’s stomach as he was scanned over several times. He did not know this man. He was also wearing the new Spider-Man suit with his face revealed. Peter paused for a moment. He then spoke with an incredibly pronounced northern England accent.
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Jack, I’m from across the pon-”
The man rolled his eye, turning back to Steve. The latter was in the middle of finishing off the strap adjustments of his suit’s left arm.
“Your new friends keep getting better.” The man looked back to a silently retreating Peter, “If I wanted to arrest you, Parker, I would.”
Peter froze, his heart thundering in his ears. His legs took a step back as his lips quivered. The government knew. The police knew. Someone knew. Had Steve told them? Doubtful, but he was an extreme patriot. He was the patriot. But, had they always known? Were they spying on him? On his aunt, as well?
“You need to expand your territory. It wasn’t that difficult to work out what suburb you live in based off of the locations of the surrounding criminals you catch.”
Peter was still frozen. His face had become incredibly pale, and there was the strong urge to suddenly vomit or run. He didn’t know this man, he didn’t trust this man, and this man knew his name and address. Steve tilted his head at the man, a scrutinising look on his face. The stranger, however, did not seem swayed by Steve’s judgemental gaze.
“You want me to rub his back and say I don’t keep tabs? I’m not a babysitter.”
Steve shook his head, finally finished with adjusting his suit. He stretched his arms out to his sides, rotating his upper body as he did so. Not feeling any resistance, a warm, nostalgic smile blossomed.
“Peter,” Steve began, “this is Director Nick Fury. He’s the one that looked after me-”
“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Both Steve and Fury shifted slightly as Peter regained his voice, “Steve mentioned S.H.I.E.L.D. earlier. Well, not only you. Rhino mentioned you guys as…putting him…in the suit…not great…people…Kinda had a…whole speech about…your ethics…lack of them. I think. It was hard to understand through the accent, you know?”
Fury, much to Steve’s interest, let out a look of dark amusement at the story.
“Yeah, we know Sytsevich. Can pack a punch, kid. I know you sure survived a few of them.”
Peter, feeling an odd shyness about the possible compliment, shrugged silently. Rhino certainly had broken more than a few bones during their four encounters. It had been particularly hard to convince Aunt May that it was the result a rogue scooter accident, but he had somehow managed. The brief, single sentence towards Peter was apparently enough social interaction for Fury. The man turned his attention back to the super soldier, soon picking up a folder from the nearest coffee table. One that was quickly offered to Steve, who sat down to lift each of the files out from within. Fury put his hands on his hips, his face scrunching into an ancient scowl.
“I’m taking a gamble on believing your insane story for one reason: two names that you gave me checked out.”
“As what?” Steve asked.
He was mildly confused at just what he was looking at. It was collection of many dozen photographs of houses, cars, close up shots of people. The back of each photo had a detail catalogue of names, locations and dates. None seemed directly related, outside of several of the rather high-class houses and estates being photographed many years apart. Moving away from the photographic collection, Steve turned his attention to the extensive amounts of archival materials. Bank receipts, home leases, even political donations from numerous charities.
“As dodgy as fuck.” Fury muttered, moving to sit next to Steve, “I had people run these names through our archives. None showed up, meaning they’re not terrorists or anything worth our attention. So, I had some other localised agents in various towns and city run them through community records. Eventually, we found some odd shit.”
Fury picked out several photographs of an oceanside manor. Peter, doing his best not to draw attention, stood behind the pair and squinted to see the images.
“That crazy expensive place? North England, made about two hundred years back. The estate got in trouble a few decades ago because the local government thought they were committing tax evasion. Every few decades, the owners ‘sold’ the place to in-laws, only for the feds to eventually work out in the twenties that the in-laws didn’t exist. None of them did. The owners at the time stated that it was tax evasion, and they paid off the community for unpaid taxes going back decades. No further questions were raised.” Fury’s fingers dug through some of the photos and soon held two for Steve to inspect, “These two look awfully similar, even for grandfather and grandkid.”
It was true. The two photos of the entrance of the manor were in very different condition, with one turned a faded brown. Both were still in enough condition to see that the manor was hosting some sort of event or gathering amongst people wearing very fine coats and hats. In fact, Steve saw that he recognised one of the men as an American politician. Next to him was a taller, stronger man with curled hair and a confident, stoic grin on his face. It was the same grin that was shown within the second photo, where the man was shepherding some beautiful women into his abode.
“Luther Earlshart.” Fury tapped his finger against the face, “Grandfather to a Maxwell Stevens, who is the grandfather to a Lucas Brand. The family’s records are all on file, yet none of the in-laws are. Seems to me like your new friend was a lazy son of a bitch. Or arrogant. Or dumb.”
“Or all three?” Peter suggested, making Fury snort.
“The man next to him in that photo, we think is John Falsworth. We were able to make a similar family line for him, as well. He was more careful with his records, though. The only reason we were able to ping him was that he appeared in several photos across the decades as well.” Fury dug through the files to find such images, “At any rate, in the single day that I had, things have been mixed.” Fury admitted with a snarl, “We’re using the photos of Frost and Falsworth to find anyone else that comes up decades apart, and crossing any records we can find on them with the list of names that you gave.” Fury sighed, leaning back to face Steve and Peter directly, “It’ll take time. Going through city records across the planet isn’t exactly an afternoon task to keep grandma preoccupied.”
The prospect of needing even longer caused Steve’s face to tighten, his eyes suddenly gaining a new intensity as he looked at Fury.
“We might not have time.” He stated earnestly, “Fury, if Varnae has-”
“Ah yes, a giant ape. We found nothing on him, though that’s not surprising given your story.”
Steve did not know what to say. He was not naïve. He knew proving the existence of giant, ancient, magical orangutan was not going to be easy. It caused a vibrating anxiety within his chest, for they did not have the time for elongated debate or bureaucratic analysis on the matter. Fury read the apprehensive look in the soldier’s eyes. Rising to his feet, he put his hands in defined his coat. He took some time to think of the best thing to say. As he did so, his face softened somewhat into a mildly sympathetic, yet still very stern, expression.
“Look, I’ve got agents across the world trying to find any records. I still answer to people. I can’t do much more without actual evidence. You have the strange death rates and these oddities,” Fury gestures to the records, “on your side. I can’t offer more help until I can justify it.”
Peter’s spine suddenly tightly, urging him to look to the side as someone suddenly spoke from the corner of the room. He almost flipped onto the wall before noticing who it was.
“How bureaucratic.”
Fury did not flinch at the noise, quite unlike Peter. Instead, he simply glared at Jackie as she stood awkwardly by the door. She still looked severely out of place, and her head was droopy as it often did in recent days. Her eyes seemed to linger on Peter’s attire, making him blush somewhat. It seemed to humour her somewhat. Her own clothing, an old yellow sweater and maroon jeans, was dusty and creased. It made both Peter and Steve wonder where within the Sanctum that she had been hiding.
“Look, vamp girl, I can’t go around sending an army in to storm places we’re still finding. Most people would call that an act of war.”
“Varnae’s already started one.” Steve cut in, slowly rising, “He’s got an army. Beyond that, if he finds that artefact…”
“I know.” Fury stated darkly, his eye sharpening as he turned to stare at Steve, “Why do you think I’m giving you the information that I have? You want to stop this supposed threat? Prove it’s real to me. Then, I’ll unleash all the…dogs…we have in our kennel.”
Fury drifted off, his face scrunching up as the sound of hurried footsteps gently rose within the room. The Director’s frown deepened as an overly excited pug ran deep into the room, busying herself with sniffing and licking as many feet as she could reach. As she neared Fury, the man stood still, only looking up to Steve with a look of utter annoyance. His disgruntled expression eased as a very tall and a very green woman entered the room next to a slighter shorter but far bulkier man. As ever, Fury did not look shocked. In fact, his stoicism continued to impress Steve considerably. The agent had the same expression that someone shopping for groceries would have, even as a god stood before him. He did not seem too phased by Jennifer, either. His eye lingered on her muscles, more than her height and skin.
Peter had a somewhat more eager reaction to Jennifer’s entrance, his eyes widening as he observed her new attire. It was a strange type of thick, strong leotard that could clearly take a hit and handle her size changes. A cream white ran upwards in the middle while an even purple flanked the outer sides. A black belt ran across her hips, with some padding along her shoulder and sides. Her very defined arms, as well as her legs, were completely bare, with some exception to the dark gloves that she wore. For Peter’s hormonal mind, her attractiveness had somehow managed to grow even more. Thor was once more in thick armour, yellow, purple and blue, all set with jagged pieces of shining ore. A dark blue cloak once more warmed his upper chest, concealing most of the hammer that was resting from his hip.
After a few more moments of having Maxxie inspect his scent, Fury finally spoke.
“You really have been busy.” Fury’s tone was calm and he turned to Thor, “The Nordic god that fell from Norway’s skies. You’ve caused quite a headache at my office.”
Thor chuckled deeply, but lowered his head apologetically as he stepped towards Fury. Against the god’s immense statue, even Fury looked like a small child. Fury did not flinch or back away as the Aesir came close, nor did he jump as Thor lifted a hand.
“I am Thor, of Asgard. I have come to rid your world of the demonic filth that threatens your innocent peasants.”
Fury eyed the offered hand for a moment, and then stared at Thor. After several moments of silent inspection, Fury shook the mighty hand as tightly as he could. It was a gesture that made the god smile gently.
“You have spirit, warrior of the shield.”
“Direc…Yeah, we’ll go with that.” Fury grunted, “Try not to destroy too much property. Makes my life harder.” Thor smiled kindly, “A god, a kid, a vamp, and whatever the hell you.” He bucked his chin at Jennifer.
She was only mildly aware of the gesture, for most of the attention was turned to the rangy teen that was sliding next to her. He would be a poor thief, that much was clear. He was too awkward in his movements when he wasn’t swinging about or climbing on walls. Still, he managed a bright smile as he looked her over. His attempts to be polite was obvious, given how swiftly he would move past looking at her chest or her hips as he waved to her new outfit.
“Looks…”
“Revealing.” Jennifer muttered quietly, “I asked for stretchy, not…”
“I think it looks great.” Peter shrugged.
“Of course you do.” Jennifer smirked softly, rolling her eyes, “Pretty sure this will mainly distract criminals more than intimidate them.”
Her attempt a joke was met with silence. While this was not a new occurrence for Jennifer, it was new for Peter not to at least chuckle out of pity. There was no immediate response, in fact. Jennifer turned, seeing Peter looking rather down and torn for some reason. His giddiness for her suit had all but died, replaced by the teen staring out into nothingness with a stony expression.
“Hey. Hey. Pete.”
She nudged him, bringing him back to Earth. His cheeks darkened a tad, but the melancholic look on his face never eased.
“Sorry. Someone else I…used to know also said that about her costume.” He mumbled miserably, “At least your chest is covered.”
Jennifer’s mouth curled in annoyance, but didn’t see any mocking look in Peter’s eye or anything resembling lust. The teen seemed despondent. It was the second time that he had referenced someone like that, someone that had clearly stung him deeply. Jennifer smiled gently, forcing a playful look on her face as she gently nudged him again.
“I like your suit, too. Really brings out the ‘spider’ gimmick.”
It seemed to be enough to lighten some of Peter’s mood. His eyes eased a little, and a shy smile was threatening to appear.
“Yeah, it really does. Even when sneaking up behind me, people will know how I am.”
“As opposed to sneaking up on just any superpowered person in red and blue?”
“Yeah, exactly.” Peter nodded, not sensing her sarcasm.
The pair’s comparison of each other’s suits was only background noise to Jackie, Fury, Thor, Steve and Maxxie as they gathered around the folder once more.
“We should be wary before striking these houses.” Thor noted as he, Fury, Jackie and Steve circled around the scattered photographs and files, “We do not know what is within them. They could be heavily guarded, or full of simple humans.”
“That don’t age.” Jackie replied with a dry tone, her eyes not leaving the several images of John Falsworth throughout the decades, “He sure likes his damn parties, the git.” She paused, squinting, “He kinda looks like my uncle…”
“We’re trying to work out who the guests were.” Fury murmured, “Not a lot of the photos were clear.”
“Why were they taken, then?”
“Noise complaints.”
“The bane of any decent party.”
Fury’s expression finally shifted into visible confusion and surprise. Out of all of the gathering attendants, he was genuinely thrown back by the appearance of Tony Stark, the drunken billionaire. The heir to an arms fortune that turned to clean energy and computer products. The man that was now sauntering his way through the room, Hank and Janet Pym not too far behind him. Steve gave the inventor a welcoming nod, appreciating that the man had finally slept. There was some energy to Tony’s steps now, his eyes no longer sinking deep into his head. His messy beard had also disappeared almost entirely. The bushy mass of black was now a carefully trimmed square around his mouth and chin, leaving his far paler cheeks exposed and neck exposed.
“And this is?” Tony asked, jabbing a thumb to towards Fury.
“This is the Di-”
“Never mind,” Tony hastily added, his eyes gazed wildly at Jennifer, “Digging the new get up. Really shows off you-”
“I can throw you through a wall.” Jennifer warned, her eyebrow raising.
“It would be worth it, though.” Tony grinned, only to wince as Janet elbowed his left set of ribs.
“Oh, shut up.” Janet muttered softly as she walked towards Peter and Jennifer.
Her attention was fixated on her creations, whilst Hank shyly offered Fury his hand with reddened cheeks and mumbled words. Yet again, Fury took it as Tony once again asked who he was.
“So,” Jennifer began with a quiet tone, “How do they feel?”
“Good.” Peter nodded with a smile, “Comfy. They don’t tear when I do a backflip, so that’s useful.” He beamed, “It’s really awesome, Janet. Really. Thanks.” The older woman blushed, a modest smile now upon her face, “Though, could we switch the earpiece? It’s so bulky and digs into my skin heaps.”
“Hmm. I can see if we have anything smaller. The main issue is that we needed something big enough that could be woven in without it falling out easily. If Hank isn’t too busy being socially awkward, quickly ask him if we have any replacements.”
Peter nodded, quickly making his way towards the gathering. It was almost comical, for there was no moment for acceptable silence for Peter to interrupt. He would open his mouth, only for Steve or Tony to ask Fury about the mansion. Hank would silently stand near the folder, staring at the images as Peter crept to his side. Yet, as soon as Peter opened his mouth, Hank began forcing himself to ask questions relating to architecture and layouts. Janet smirked a tad, taking her opportunity and turning to Jennifer.
“So,” She whispered, “How’s it feel? Really.”
There was a brightness to her eyes that made Jennifer smile gently. It was simply too infectious.
“Oh, the lord, thank you. It’s so stretchy. And there’s,” She looked over Janet’s shoulder, made sure no one was watching, and cupped the underside of her breasts for a split second, “support. Thank you.” She chuckled.
“That wasn’t easy. Like, really a nightmare. Having stretchy and firm? Again, nightmare.” She nodded, “Any improvements?”
“Hmm.” Jennifer did not need any time to ponder, “Pants? Short-shorts? Anything where the fabric doesn’t ride up my…You know.”
“You wanted flexible.” Janet hastily defended, “Gymnasts where those. It’s what I thought you wanted.”
“Gymnasts don’t fight crime for long periods of time.”
Janet blushed, her chin lowering a tad. Now that she was looking at the suit in person, it certainly did reveal almost every aspect of Jennifer’s legs. Perhaps some cosmetic over practicality wouldn’t have been a bad thing. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more critical she became of herself.
“The moment this is done, I’ll redesign it.”
“Thanks.”
“Oi.” Tony called, “You done gossiping?”
Jennifer rolled her eyes while Janet patted her elbow in warning. Tony’s lip twitched. The pair joined the others, staring at the layout of the mansion. It was three levels, with a basement. Over a dozen rooms per level. The grounds were extensive, with stone walls bordering them. Multiple windows in every direction, with several rooftop areas designed for tea or outdoor socialising. The typical rich English mansion, in short.
“I need to contact their real estate agent.” Tony scoffed, his eyes eating up the design, “Christ, is that three kitchens? That has to be a kitchen? Oh, wait. Vampires. Do they have kitchens?” He asked Jackie.
The girl blinked twice.
“We need to interrogate Varnae’s original vampires.” Steve cut in, “We need to get in quick, and get out quicker. Bring them here for a chat. It’s to be quick. Once we’ve got them, all bets are off.”
“They’ll came charging.” Hank sighed, “Which means we need to use our time carefully. I’ll scout.” Everyone turned to him with a look of confusion at his suggestion, “What? Recon. I can shrink. No one will see me. I’ll radio in when I’ve found the guy, and then we snatch ‘em.”
“Hank, given your…” Jennifer paused, “Please, don’t put too much pressure on yourself to-”
“I’ll do it as well.” Janet cut in, “We need to be efficient. I’ll do one level, Hank another.”
“And how will you know who they are?” Fury shrugged, “Any of you actually seen all twelve of these folk?”
“Yes.” A voice croaked, “I’ll input the memories into everyone’s mind.”
Strange stood before them, his head lowered awkwardly but his body straight for once. His attire was extremely different, as well. A tight-fitting black robe with parted fabric resting at the side of his thighs adorned his body. Upon his forearms, shins and chest was a plate of dark armour. His chest was decorated with two thick, dark red lines that travelled downwards, met with a matching red sash across his hip. His hands were different, as well. Many eyes widened in concern as they saw that the wires and braces holding Strange’s hands and fingers together were now missing. The skin of his paws shined a red hue as lines of magic wrapped tightly around him, effectively forming a new support for Strange’s quivering digits. They were also stained with blood, however. The last mark of a no doubt bloody and painful removal of the instruments.
Strange did not make eye contact. He could not. But, he could manage to slowly step towards them. Jackie sneered at him, an action that stopped as soon as she saw Steve’s look of warning.
"Yeah,” Tony chuckled darkly, “Not happening. Get your fucking magic out of my h-”
It happened within a second. It had been impossible to see as his head was lowered, by Strange had been uttering a spell. Several streams of red shot from his fingers and collided with all present, even Fury. Many staggered back, blinking. None felt ill, or any different for that matter. In fact, Peter shook his head and questioned if Strange’s spell had any effect at all.
“Deacon Frost.” Strange said, watching their reactions closely.
As if having been there themselves, each of the gathered group suddenly held a recollection of sitting in a small class full of several adults. Before them was a face being shown, flames curling around to show the image as if it were a movie projector. Tony hissed, his face red.
“Adinah.”
Yet again, the same setting appeared in their minds. However, an entirely new face was within the flames as an instructor spoke briefly on their history as a vampire. Tony’s face grew harsher.
“Don’t you ever do that again. Your little magic tricks have caused enough-”
“Tony.” Steve warned, “Strange, can you detect if anyone will be in there?”
“I can give you number, but I can’t pick out individuals. For what it’s worth,” He nodded to the mansion’s design, “that is where Brand lives. My…A teacher of mine had battled him once, and noted that was where he had retreated to. He’s got a small army of guards. He’ll be at his most confident there. I’ll need to teleport you all in and out within seconds.”
“We’ll radio you then.” Janet said, “Once we find him, you all grab him. Simple enough?”
“There’s still the issue of the guards. They’ll smell you, no matter how small you are.” Jackie pointed out grimly.
“I don’t actually think the science behind that-”
“I’ll give a distraction.” Jackie continued, making Hank sigh, “They all think I’m a traitor. They’ll come for me.”
“No.” Steve said firmly, “You won’t last long enough. Maybe if you try to convince them you’ll defect.”
“Brand’s too paranoid. He’ll kill her just to be safe.” Strange informed them, “I’m sorry, but I agree with Steve.”
“So, now you care about my wellbeing?”
Strange’s eyes narrowed in hurt. He turned his head, focussing once more on the files before them.
“I’ll go with you.” Tony murmured, clearing his throat, “Might as well. Plus, I can rig up a shit tone of bombs. And,” He rolled a little on his heels, “the new suit should help us live a little longer.” He turned to look directly at Steve, “I can be loud. She can be fast. We’ll make sure the house is less…full.”
Steve eyed him closely, testing the resolve within the man across from him. Tony only blinked, showing a surprising amount of conviction in his plan. Steve sighed.
“You’re sure that your Iron Man suit can handle vampires? We call saw what happened last time.”
“New design.” Tony hastily answered, “Faster. More guns.” He chuckled, and he turned to the redhead, “We’re gonna have some fun.”
Jackie blushed a little, looked down, and tried to fight the nervous smile on her face. It was a dumb plan, but they needed to thin out the herd. Besides, if she was lucky, maybe she could go out on a blaze of glory instead of her current miserable experience.
“I can aid them.” Thor suggested.
“No.” Steve shook his head, “You’re going to restrain the vampire. We need someone with your…muscles.” Thor nodded, stroking his beard, “Jennifer, Peter and I will make sure none of the surrounding vampires interfere while Thor grabs them. Strange, focus on getting everyone out. Fury, feel free to stay and get your evidence.”
The Director huffed, but didn’t object. In fact, he sat down and interlaced his fingers. He seemed content to see how this played out, and Steve did not blame him. As far as Fury was concerned, there was no evidence that Steve was right. Should the mission be a success, he’d have proof. Should it fail, he’d still have proof but in the form of corpses.
“Everyone good?”
“Nope.” Peter shook his head, “We don’t have codenames, like in spy movies. I mean, we can’t just use our names. What if they hear?”
“Yeah, because saying ‘Tony’ is enough for them to work out my credit card details.” Tony rolled his eyes.
“Not the worst idea, actually.” Steve agreed, making Peter smile softly, “Iron Man.”
Tony’s jaw tightened, especially as Hank snorted. The billionaire turned to him.
“What shall we call the tiny man? ‘Small surprise’? ‘Pocket Rocket’?”
Hank and Janet exchanged mildly embarrassed looks, but it was not from Tony’s words. Hank blushed and, following some murmurs and nudging from Janet, spoke.
“We…have already spoken about this.” His eyes briefly swiped towards Peter, “We thought it’d be…amusing to keep the insect theme going. I’m small, like an Ant. So…”
“Ant-Man and the Wasp.” Janet nodded with a little too much pride.
Tony stared at the two of them, not knowing which one to insult first. They were some of the worst names that he had ever heard in his entire life, and he had watched a man called ‘Magneto’ threaten the President when he was a younger man. Luckily, Peter turned to Thor before the hungover man could rant.
“What about-”
“With much respect, Peter Parker,” Thor smiled gently, resting a giant hand on his shoulder, “I care not for hiding behind names. Let them know me, and who is protecting humanity. I wish for them to dread my name.”
“Nice and psychotic.” Janet sighed before turning to a still stiff Strange, “Doctor Voodoo?”
“Already taken.” Strange stated lamely, his eyes lowering, “And they already know my identity. Being a sorcerer isn’t exactly a private affair as far as the vampires are concerned. Varnae probably knows my name by now, as well.”
“Well, I think Doctor Strange has a ring to it.” Janet continued, trying not to seem too downtrodden.
She peered at Jackie, who seemed to be concentrating. Her thin lip twitched a little before curling into an uncertain expression.
“Spitfire.”
“Spitfire?” Peter inquired, making Jackie blush and frown.
“My grandfather was a pilot. He flew one during the war.” She explained in a defensive tone, “I don’t exactly have a theme or gimmick.” She tossed a sideways glance at Tony and Peter, who both scoffed in offense.
“That leaves…” Janet turned.
Jennifer fidgeted slightly as all eyes turned on her. She let out off a tight smile as the social anxiety suddenly kicked in full gear. There was no need to simply all stare at her like that.
“Juggernaut? No? Okay.” Tony sighed, “Jade Vixen? Someone help me.” He grunted, “It’s not exactly easy picking a name for a hulking…She-Hulk.” He nodded, committed to his idea.
“Why add the ‘she’?” Jackie frowned as Janet squinted.
“Hulk sounds too rough.” Tony shrugged casually, “The ‘she’ softens it into a more…heroic sound.”
“Jesus Christ, Tony.” Janet sighed, looking bewildered at his sensitivities, “What…You never had any actual female presence growing up, did you?”
Before Tony could answer, Steve clapped his hands loudly.
“Enough. Hank, Janet, suit up. You’re first. Tony, get whatever bombs you have ready. You and Jackie are going in first. Then the Pyms. Then the rest.”
There was a series of nods and murmurs. Anxiety and dread filled many faces, but it was not enough to deter them. The Pyms hastily made their way out whilst Peter rolled on his feet, not knowing what to do with the growing nerves. Jennifer and Jackie soon sat down, not knowing what else to do before something like this. Neither were soldiers, neither had gone on missions of such kind. Sitting was the best that they could manage to handle their cutting and silent fears. Fury was next to them, as silent as he had been. His eye followed each of them as quickly as he could, absorbing all information that was possible to gleam. He seemed content to let the events unfold.
Steve turned to Strange, only to see him in the middle of a small battle. The sorcerer’s face was scrunched in frustration as his attempts to pull the Cloak of Levitation away from him were foiled. The magic fabric was adamant. It clung to his shoulders, its band wrapping tightly upon his collar. With one last failed attempt to pull the cloak off, Strange gave up.
“I am fine. I don’t need…Fine, do what you want.” The sorcerer spat.
It seemed to be enough to relax the cloak, so much so that it patted Strange’s cheek with seeming affection. It made the man rolled his eyes until Steve stood before him. As he spoke, he raised his iconic shield. Strange eyed it closely, as even he was struck with its allure.
“I have one last request. Do you know any magic to help out our gear?”
***
The passageway between the earth was tight and long, burrowing deep within the ground in a square trench carefully excavated. Many parts of the walls had notes stuck to them or pieces of sampling equipment still embedded. A reflection of the archaeologists and their detailed research as they dug through stratigraphic layer after layer.
The harsh, rock tunnel was not empty. Despite its ability to only hold perhaps three people standing side by side, it was lined with bowing or kneeling individuals, all silent as their creator walked past them. The procession last for nearly a third of a mile, with dozens of vampires awaiting their master in the darkness. Even with their unnatural vision, the tunnel on the Cypriot coast was amongst the harshest environment to navigate in. The fact that human excavators and archaeologists had done so was highly impressive indeed, especially to Varnae. Walking on the front of his knuckles, the giant Orangutan ‘oow’ed softly to himself as he neared the end of the tunnel. His stoic expression had long since been lost since he had heard of the discovery. Centuries had led to this. Countless years of exile, of being on worlds unknown to all. Of burning on blazing sands and freezing in barren mountains. Of a loneliness that had broken him year after year for an eternity. It all made Varnae walk even faster. His heart was within his ears. His small eyes wide. He would not be alone anymore. The Atlantean culture would be reborn, and his exile would truly be over. Hannibal’s death would not be in vain.
The dark stone and dirt came to an end. Several very cramped vampires lowered their heads as Varnae approached a perfectly even wall of rock. One that was decorated with beautiful lines of fades and cracked designs. It was clear only some of it was exposed. The tunnel’s ceiling cut off many images from view. Sealife and mammals, both living and extinct, swam and danced in several circles before their eyes. It was almost hypnotic, as if the creatures were performing some sort of chant. The innermost circle was directly in the centre. Within it, there was a strange animal that looked like a mix of a fish and a porcupine. A pattern that was stroked by a leathery hand as Varnae’s breathing deepened. The vampire ape leaned back, ‘oow’ed twice, and uttered a single phrase in a long dead tongue.
“Words before the sword.”
The reaction was immediate. Several vampiric followers could not hide their wonder and shock as the wall vibrated and groaned. Centuries worth of dirt shifted and poured onto the ground. The wall groaned louder as a downwards line from the centre of the wall appeared, one that thickened as the two wall panels of the wall pulled inwards. The gathered group was silent. Not a single member of the dozens of vampires within the small, skinny tunnel said a word. They dared not. Not as Varnae silently stepped forwards, his eyes wide as a planet.
His mouth gaped slightly as an enormous chamber stood before him, one deep enough to touch beautiful blue waters below that lit the room in a dark blue hue. It was clear that the room had collapsed to its current level within the earth at an angle. The tilted, uneven ceiling stood many metres above him, held up by great pillars with engravings upon their dark rock. Only portions of it remained, with many sideways pillars missing as well. The ground that he stood on was a perfectly smooth surface. A polished stone. Yet, despite it’s beautiful, it was cracked and rested at a thirty-degree angle. A carving of a dolphin that was three times his size decorated the entrance. Walking through the slanted chamber would be possible, but annoying. Varnae cared not, however. His eyes were still on pillars and their words. Words that he could read. Such a fact drew an overwhelming emotion from him. His eyes tightened, resisting tears as he sat down. He needed time to control himself.
As he did so, he looked towards the centre of the vast, open area. Several sets of square stairs led downwards to a watery stream where three metallic orbs stood. One within the ground, one attached to the ceiling, and one hovering between them. It was still operational. Perhaps. In front of it, made from the same dark stone, was a large platform, one large enough to supporting hundreds of resting students. It was all still intact. Well, relatively. Varnae leapt into the air, swinging with the ease that only one of his species could know. Within seconds he was standing before the centre orb, his eyes observing the many runes cut within it. It was a strange device. Metal, with many rotating and gently spinning spheres and rings within the near transparent outer layer. There were clearly many layers to it. Golden circles, within circles, within circles. One could be driven mad trying to understand it just by looking. With some delay, several of Varnae’s closer attendants managed to arrive on the platform. Several struggled to balance themselves against the slanting ground, with one vampire even sliding downwards several feet. They bowed, nonetheless, as Varnae turned to them.
“Get my children. All of them.”
***
“Be quick.” Strange warned before grimacing slightly, “Ant-Man…and Wasp are ready. I’ll be sending them through soon.”
Tony grunted, not being able to say much more to the man. Even within his golden and red armour that seemed to reflect the moonlight, Strange could practically smell how seething the inventor was. He didn’t blame him at all, either. The pair stared at each other for the briefest of moments, before Tony kneeled onto the grassy plane. His mechanised leg groaned loudly as he did so, but no one jumped out from the shadows. At least, not yet. They were many metres away from the mansion, standing by a portion of the stone walls. Beside them stood a despondent Jackie. At her feet laid a motionless vampire, his chest torn and burnt. Tony’s repulser gauntlet had already proven its capability. His armour truly was a feat of brilliance. Even the helmet, as it rested at his feet, was impressive to the eye and the wise. It was a set of armour that glowed in the dark, but not just from the Arc Reactor that shone blue within the chest compartment. Runes and ancient engravings decorated the metal. Many were glowing a burning red, suiting Tony’s armour quite well. Runes that made the metal even harder, faster. Jackie also adorned such spells, yet only on her yellow sweater and casual jeans. Compared to the entirety of the Avengers, it was clear that she was the only one that had not taken the time to come up with or request some sort of suit or costume.
As Tony ignored Strange, his hands tinkering with several small canisters, the sorcerer began to turn away.
“As Captain said, please respond to radio chatter and call for help when you need it.”
“Yes, yes, mother.” Tony’s muttered.
Strange exhaled silently. Deciding no more words where worth it, the aloof sorcerer murmured another spell and slipped through a rotating portal. The field was now silent. Jackie bit her lip, her eyes taut as she looked at the forest in front of them. She was too anxious to look at the mansion behind them, at the dozens of vampires that would no doubt be charging towards them at any moment. It had been her idea, and she knew she had to stand by it. That didn’t ease the terror that was growing within the young girl’s mind every second that it crawled closer.
“Spitty. Come here a sec.”
Her anxiety briefly gave way to annoyance. She turned, seeing Tony gesturing to the cannisters.
“I need you to pour the yellow liquid in the same time as I pour the powder in. Come on, come on. We don’t have all day.”
Jackie rolled her eyes but did as she was told. The redhead kneeled next to Tony, her sensitive nose wrinkling as the horrid smelling liquid attacked her senses. With as much care as her horrified self could muster, she picked up the small bucket and began to pour it into the centre cannister.
“This isn’t even my weirdest night out.” Tony admitted softly, “When I was nineteen, I tried to smuggle a group of potbelly pigs into my campus. Thought it’d be funny to swap them with the larger pigs for the agricultural competition that the college was in.”
Jackie, despite the stupidity of the comment and the uncomfortably thick air, allowed herself to chuckle twice. She was also impressed at how careful Tony was being with the powder, especially with his hands in such a bulky machine.
“How’d that end for you?”
“Well, parents weren’t too happy that they needed to pay the college for ‘damages’. Though, dad was mostly silent. Hypocrite did the same thing, but with ponies and a horse breeding competition.”
“What…Where did you go to university?”
“Places.” Tony asked in a vague voice.
The pair soon finished pouring their chemicals in the barrel. Tony stood up first, hastily grabbing his helmet and marching away from the volatile concoction. Jackie was at his side before he could blink. The weight of what was about to happen stilled pressed at her chest in a tight manner, yet her legs felt as if they could run at any moment.
“This is ridiculous, though.” Jackie mumbled in a saddened tone, “All of this. Just…fucked.”
She felt what she assumed was Tony’s careful attempt at nudging her. He gave her a small smile before turning towards the mansion. It was clear that he was chewing his tongue. Metallic fingers danced along the armour of his sides. After another moment, he placed his helmet on his next and Jackie heard it click several times as it stuck in place.
“You know, it’s not a bad way of being fucked.” Tony said, “And I’ve been fucked over in life a lot of ways. Fighting vampires to save the world,” He turned to look at the unsure Jackie, “not the worst way to be, right?”
The redhead smiled in a defeated manner but allowed herself an apathetic shrug as she stared at the faraway mansion. Her fists tightened as she braced herself.
“Not a bad way of getting fucked.” She murmured.
The metallic sound of Tony’s chuckles gently entered her ears. Raising his arm and twitching his pinkie, Tony watched as the monitor in front of his face added a red target to its lens.
“To a not a bad way of getting fucked.”
He twitched his pinkie again. A single bullet from a gun hidden within his arm rung out, colliding with the barrels of mixing chemicals. The added heat had an immediate reaction. The explosion could no doubt he heard a kilometre away.
***
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hank repeated.
“Yes, Hank.” Janet replied, the radio being developed enough to pick up her sigh, “I have done this before.”
“Yeah, once.” Her husband muttered.
Even from his miniscule position amongst gigantic panels of wood that seemed to stretch for miles, Hank was envious of the mansion’s décor. Everything was the old-fashioned wood that simply wasn’t used in houses anymore. The fine polish that reflected so much light made Hank squint as he jogged throughout the house. It was horribly uncomfortable. The furniture was clearly worth a small fortune, yet he hadn’t seen a single person using anything. The vast majority of activity was people opening doors, only to run at a speed so fast that Hank stopped seeing them. The house was silent after that. Whatever Tony and Jackie had done, it clearly did the trick. Only a few guards were positioned outside seemingly random doors. As Hank slid beneath them, he was surprised to see only empty offices or antique collections. Not a single member of the original vampires was in sight.
“Anything on your end?” Hank asked, doing his best not to pant too loudly as he sprinted past a guard’s enormous foot.
Much to his relief, Jackie had been wrong. At the size that he currently was in, no one could smell him at all. It caused a great guilt in his mind, for if Tony or Jackie were injured or worse, perhaps it would be for no advantageous reason.
“Not yet.” Janet murmured, sounding in far better shape that he was, “Just a lot of guards standing around libraries and stuff. I think I saw a missing sarcophagus in one of the bedrooms.”
“Stay focussed.” A third voice, Steve’s, requested, “Keep searching. If we can’t find anyone during a sweep, we may need to pull out and find another location. Or try taking someone lower on the food ch-”
“That won’t be needed.” Hank whispered as he came to a stop.
He stepped close to a door frame as he watched a giant of man dancing slowly with himself to some old music. His face was downtrodden, his eyes staring at the ground as if they were too heavy to raise. His hair was curled and by his chin, and he was quite a handsome man, especially in his three-piece dark blue suit. He was picturesque of the typical English lord. Lucas Brand. It must have been his private office. It was full of thick couches and chairs, a beautiful wooden desk in front of a fireplace, and many shelves of books and maps that were older than Hank was.
“Brand. He’s alone and in the room I’m in. Second floor, third room to the left of the stairs, Jan. You got my position, Strange?”
There was no audible response. It all happened within a single second. Four portals opened at once, and the sound of thunder vibrated the floor. It was difficult for Hank to see, as it happened so fast. But somehow, Brand’s nose ended up in front of him as he was tackled to the ground. His screams could be heard as Mjolnir was pressed to his spine. Thor’s large hand wrapped around his throat as Steve and Jennifer stood at the door, their clothing glowing with magical ruins. No support came for Brand. No one charged at Steve or Jennifer, and no one attacked Thor. Even as Brand swore in a long dead language at the man holding him so aggressively, tearing at his fine suit, there was only a very slow and purposeful clap. Hank stayed where he was, murmuring something into Janet’s radio as he saw several others enter the office space. A skinny, shorter man with a manic grin was in the middle of two women of Asian features. Yang Jia, Deacon Frost, and Bayarmaa. None seemed too annoyed that their friend was being manhandled by a god. In fact, Deacon tattered dismissively as he looked down.
“There was no need to go down without any respect.” Deacon laughed and Lucas hissed something in a foreign language, “Don’t blame me.” He looked up, an irritating amount of smugness in his eyes, “Captain America. The man, the myth, the legend.”
No one moved. Thor held onto his weapon tightly, ready to hurl it forwards at a moment’s notice. Steve was in a similar stance. With the runes upon his shield, he was somewhat confident that it would be able to slice through them as it had with the other vampires. Jennifer stood in front of Strange, not knowing what else to do aside from raise her fists. Strange was motionless, his jaw tight. A horrible feeling wrang his throat like a snake as he saw the same people that butchered his kind. It was almost enough to make him vomit and scream just being near them. Still, he managed to contain himself just enough to murmur a faint spell, one that prepared to lock the vampires’ feet in place if needed.
“Ah, that won’t be needed.” Deacon looked at Strange, “We’re here for peace.”
“A deal.” Jia corrected, eyeing those in front of her as if she were an aristocrat discovering what public transport was for the first time.
“A deal.” Deacon nodded, “So, please. Let my brother go.”
Thor bared his teeth in response and Steve shook his head, remaining silent. Another moment of silence filled the room as the vampires assessed the situation again. Deacon sighed and shrugged, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he sat down on Brand’s leather sofa and stroked his face as if greatly tired. Brand remained on his stomach, a god upon his spine.
“I think we can all agree that…things have gotten out of hand.”
“You killing hundreds of people? Yeah.” Jennifer spat, “That’s one way of putting it.”
“That…wasn’t…us.” Brand hissed, only to wince as Thor tightened the grip on his neck further.
Bayarmaa almost made a move towards Thor, but Jia murmured something that held her back. Once her sister was placated, the Chinese vampire instead tilted her head up at their guests.
“That was Varnae, not us. We did not grow our population like this.”
“This may shock you, but we like the quiet. Easy to manage.” Deacon smiled mockingly, “Look, we all want the same thing. A return to the way things used to be. Peace, and Varnae gone.”
The room was silent as the non-vampiric lot processed Deacon’s words, as well as his expressions. Jennifer was the most analytical of his face, having the most experience in reading liars and falsehoods. He did not seem to be lying, or at least bad at it. Beneath his smugness, there was a genuine hatred in his eyes. Something was festering with him. Similar expressions could be read within Jia and Bayarmaa. They were apprehensive, but doing a very good job at concealing most of their emotions.
“We have terms.” Jia added, “We will give you Varnae’s location and not interfere. Not a single member of any of our clans will.”
The Avengers offered sceptical looks, Strange’s being the most severe.
“We are all in agreement.” Bayarmaa grunted, “The…now nine clans will respect what you do to Varnae and his…newer creations.”
“In exchange, we want to be left alone and to go about life as usual.” Deacon hastily added as he laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Jennifer shifted slightly as Strange shoved past her. His eyes were vibrating as the air around him seemed to shake with spite and hatred. Before Steve could say anything, the sorcerer began hissing.
“You’ve killed thousands over your existence. You’ve done nothing but kill and eat and harm. You wiped out my entire order. You’re a sickness. One that only breaks things. Why the hell shouldn’t we eradicate you like vermin?”
Deacon chuckled lightly. There was a snide element to his grin now, as if Strange had pressed a very sore point. Even Jia and Bayarmaa looked at the sorcerer with contempt, neither showing much sympathy for their ancient foe. Deacon stuck a finger up in the air and his smile grew.
“You need a deal because you need us to give you Varnae’s location now. He’s found his little toy as we speak.”
The Avengers attempted to exchange looks as a subtly as they could. Jennifer’s lip twitched as she did her best to read Deacon once more. The issue was that he was simply too smug and cocky to work anything out confidently. There was every chance that he was lying and loving the fact that he was. Yet, for some silly little reason, Jennifer still felt that there was truth to his words. Steve exhaled softly, also examining the three vampires closely.
“You could be lying.” Steve said in an even tone.
“We could be.” Jia nodded, “But you cannot afford to take that risk.”
“Do you even know what it does?” Strange whispered in horror.
“We know enough.” Jia replied vaguely, “We know it needs to be dealt with.”
“I don’t know. A vampire empire sounds cool.” Jennifer smirked tightly.
“Not if the emperor is fixated on bringing back a dead race.” Jia countered, “We aren’t stupid. We’ve lived for thousands of years. Varnae’s obsession with Atlantis will lead to a world war, or a collapse.”
“Nothing worth ruling.” Deacon scoffed, “What’s the point in ruling a graveyard in the sunlight when you can rule a kingdom in the quiet?” He grinned directly at Strange, “Thus, we need the artefact gone. Ergo, we want a deal that you can’t afford to ignore.”
“Our terms are this.” Jia began, “In exchange for the location of Varnae and his toy, we won’t interfere. We will let you do what you must. In the aftermath, the remaining vampire lords and ladies will absorb Varnae’s…lesser lot amongst ourselves. After that, we are to give each other…space to exist.”
“In other words, let you feed and kill.” Steve cut to the point in a brisk tone.
“We need to survive.” Jia murmured, “What do you expect us to do? Starve? This is our existence. A lion does not get shamed for hunting, nor should we.”
“We will be discrete and random, like we once were.” Bayarmaa explained, “We will be spread through the world, like before. Even with a few…hundred extra members of our kind, we will be able to maintain our existence without it…worrying you.”
“It’s a fair deal. Everyone lives, and the world goes back to normal.” Deacon grinned, still staring at the ceiling, “I mean, we came to you with only three of us right now. Hell, we’re even playing softly with your two friends outside.” Steve’s gripped tightened on his shield, “None of our guards are even trying to fight back. It’s like…touch football. I mean, what’s the alternative? You try to resist the offer and fight us? Good luck with that.”
“I like our track record.”
It was a single sentence by Steve stated in a casual, matter-of-factly tone, but it had the desired effect. Deacon’s smugness finally failed. His body stilled, and Jennifer noticed the brief exchange of glances that the female vampires gave each other. Deciding to gamble with this, Jennifer opened her mouth.
“We’ve already killed Hannibal, as well as a lot of lesser vampires. I don’t think we need to be pressured into this deal as much as you’re trying to make us think. I think if we wanted to fight you, you’d run, like usual. Even if you do kill us, you’re still screwed. You need Varnae gone. You kill us, you’d have to try yourselves.”
That comment made Deacon rise to his feet. His eyes were wide, manic, and shaking. Jia was at his side, her hand on his arm and pulling him back as his lip quivered. Both a shield and a hammer were aimed at his head. A hammer that was now pulsing with hundreds of strokes of lightning. All three vampires stared at it and then they showed it. A defeated look of fear. So, Varnae had spread the misinformation amongst his entire creation, it seemed. They all truly believed that it was they, and not Namor, that had managed to kill one of their kind. Perhaps seeing Thor in such might was enough to make them understand how that may have been possible.
To make matters worse, Hank had finally located Janet. A minuet being near the door suddenly sprung into the size of an adult woman directly behind Jia, her hand wrapped around her throat. Hank’s eyes widened as a horrible fear overcame him. Janet had misread the situation terribly, no doubt thinking that the vampires were about to attack. Hank tapped at his belt, reaching for Bayarmaa’s arms. Several confused sentences were strung in different languages as the vampires flinched away from their grips with incredible strength. Yet, they did not manage to turn. Two blobs of sticky material webbed their hands to their sides as a thud came from behind Hank and Janet. Hank turned, noticing a rising Peter giving Strange a thumbs-up as Deacon Frost eyed the three newcomers with genuine concern. Even Brand stopped moving, entirely caught up in trying to work out where they had come from. Strange briefly glanced to Peter, his hand shaking away the remnants of the portal spell that had he been silently producing. To his credit, the teen had managed to swing swiftly from the portal and web his foes within two seconds, just as he had claimed he would. He was more capable than his overly chatty persona sometimes led Strange to believe.
Rage was within their eyes, but a contained rage that was laced with defeat and sadness. Then, Deacon closed his eyes, showing an unexpected emotion: discomfort. For all he knew, he had just been surrounded by the very people that had killed Hannibal, three of whom who had managed to just appear from nowhere. He had mishandled his gamble considerably.
“Fine.” He whispered, “Fine, we’re asking.” He bit his lip, looking filthy as he did so, “Please. In exchange for the location and for Varnae, we want peace. We will control our feeding habits, like we once did. We will have order.”
“And if the newcomers don’t follow you?” Steve asked, “They might not like the nine of you.”
“A war.” Strange warned.
“It won’t come to that.” Jia shook her head, “We’ve dealt with similar matters before. We are not new to this. There will be order amongst our clans.”
“You have our word.” Bayarmaa added.
“The word of murders.” Strange warned, but Deacon scoffed.
“A hunter isn’t a murder. Learn the difference.” His eyes glanced to Steve, “What will it be? Truce or no truce? Tick. Tock.” He smirked as he slowly uttered the words, “Varnae could have found it by now. Tick. Tock. Tick…Tock…”
***
Jackie hissed as she landed on her back. Yet again, there was no following attack as she scrambled on the ground. The dozen or so vampires circling around her seemed apprehensive to do anything further than to just add distance between them. For every punch or knee that she thrust towards them, they would simply dodge and run to stand several metres away from her. Not once did they hit her back, even when she did manage to tackle or strike one of them. It was always the same. It was an entirely defensive gameplan that they had adopted. Tony was having a similar situation, though he was clearly irritating his foes more than Jackie. The armoured suit was still clunky, heavy in its movements. Yet, it was able to raise an arm with enough ease to almost obliterate several vampires with a charge from the repulsor upon its hand. Almost a dozen more vampires were circling Tony, many of whom were sporting burns or severe bruises from when bullets tried to pierce their ancient skin. Much like with Jackie, they played a game with the inventor. They slid within a metre of him, drawing his attention, before leaping aware urgently to avoid his considerable weaponry. Some would knock or lightly press against his armour, but none would try much beyond that. It was enough to make Tony mildly irritated that he was being treated like some piece of amusement between them.
Suddenly, both groups of vampires hesitated. With swift movements, they disappeared into the darkness, disbursing themselves around the border of the manor once more. Tony, who had been aiming a machine gun attached to his left forearm at a now missing vampire, grunted indigently.
“They were stalling for time.” He guessed, his tone growing paranoid, “Cap. Cap. Can someone re-”
“We’re fine, but we need to go. Now.”
It was not uttered on a radio. Both Tony and Jackie turned to see their companions, Strange included, leaping out of a single portal. From the looks on their faces, something unpleasant had happened. Strange was the worst, not that either Jackie or Tony overly cared for his well-being. But the sorcerer looked more than miserable. He looked sick with such a rage in his eyes that they trembled. His jaw was tightly wound, and his clenched fists were shaking far more than his injury had ever caused.
“What’d we miss…” Jackie murmured, seeing the conflict on several of their faces.
It did not help her own anxiety. Steve spoke first.
“I just sent word to Fury. Varnae has found the artefact. He might be there already. Deacon Frost gave us the location…as well as his word not to interfere when we take out Varnae.”
Jackie frowned, not quite believing what she was hearing. The far more cynical and armoured man next to her stared at Steve from behind his helmet.
“In exchange for what?”
“A truce between us and the remaining vampire clans.”
Tony didn’t say anything for some time. Jackie looked as livid as Strange. Her face scrunched up and she took several steps towards him. For a moment, Steve believed that she was about to throttle him.
“Are…Are you serious?” She whispered, “They’re monsters. They…They kill people. Hundreds. Why the hell would you make that deal?”
“Because if Varnae uses that machine, there’s no point in having any deals or plans. We’d be in a lot more trouble.” Steve explained, though it seemed he wasn’t entirely convinced himself, “We don’t have time to debate.”
“Convenient.” Tony’s mechanised voice murmured.
Steve didn’t take the bait. Truth be told, he didn’t want the deal. It let too many people off of the hook. Yet, he didn’t have the time or the numbers to go to war with the remaining vampire lords. Hannibal’s death was fortune alone. He doubted Namor would get involved beyond that incident. That all aside, there simply wasn’t the time to second guess himself. One issue at a time, he would just have to deal with the consequences of his agreement later. If there was a later, at any rate.
“Ant-Man, Wasp, Iron Man. Deal with the device. You’re the smartest people here, you can handle it.”
“Optimistic.” Janet’s muffled voice rang, “We’re not engineers. That’s-”
“Thor, Strange.” Steve continued, “Handle Varnae.”
Thor nodded, throwing back his cloak and summoning Mjolnir from his hip to his palm. Strange eyed him blankly, not having the strength to offer much more emotion.
“The rest of us, we keep the vampires off of their backs. Understood?”
There was silence. Jennifer rolled her shoulders, attempting to mentally get into the space of battle once more. Both Tony and Jackie were still processing the new information, neither feeling comfortable with such an agreement. Such a fact distracted them both heavily. SteveTony, in particular, would have preferred bombing them into extinction. Yet, the logical part of his mind understood the need to at least find Varnae first. It didn’t mean that a sour look wasn’t plastered upon his face as he watched Steve. The soldier turned to Strange, but the sorcerer was already summoning another portal. His face was blank, yet harsh, as he turned to Thor.
“We’re first.”
***
Varnae was silent, tense. His face was taut as his peered into the spinning sphere in front of him. His large hand was upon the enormous sphere above him, his leathery fingers rotating several of the spherical layers upon the orb. After several moments, the middle orb’s markings changed to reflect the symbols above. The settings were accepted. Whilst not a wide an area of effect as desired, having several surrounding countries taught and gifted in a single session was not a poor effort. It would do as a strong starting point for the rest of the world. The Atlantean culture would be reborn, one nation at a time if needed. No more pain, selfishness or suffering. Just enlightenment and understanding through technology and magic.
The giant ape knelt before the centre orb, his forehead directly before it. His heart was thundering, and his skin was damp with a nervousness that he had never felt in his immortal life. The pain and loneliness would be at an end. The teachings of his kind would survive, and everyone would be grateful for it. It was just a matter welcoming it. Varnae cleared his mind the best that he could as the centre sphere noticed his presence. It slowly began to spin as it latched onto his mind. A sharp pain cut through his mind as the process began. He focussed as much as he could on remembering the lessons that he was taught after his creation, the concepts and skills that he was introduced to. As he reminisced, the sphere’s symbols glowed yellow. The light from such marking slid away, travelling from the middle sphere and into the bottom and top spheres. The room itself seemed to come to life. A faint hum lifted through the room, massaging the minds of the many vampires spread throughout the colossal chamber. Memories and thoughts seemed to thicken within Varnae’s mind. It took noticeably longer for Varnae to think of new memories or to change his thoughts, as if something was weighing down his very consciousness. A consciousness that was spreading through the room itself.
Then it happened. The smell of rain. The crack of thunder. Varnae roared as he leapt back, barely missing the giant man slamming down before him. The ground shook and cracked as a hammer met it, streams of lightning crackling around it. The large man rose, throwing off his cloak and revealing his very different armour. This was not the same god that Varnae had previous fought. His command over his hammer was the first sign of that. Varnae’s ear twitched. The ape skidded backwards, keeping an equal distance between himself, Thor and the sorcerer now appearing to his left. A sorcerer in dark red and blackened armour with a cloak upon his black. One was staring with Varnae with nothing but murderous intent., and the ape could hear the human’s heart racing as a charging beast. His lips shook as his arms crossed over his chest. One shaking hand held a circular red shield whilst the other possessed a glowing mist around it. It was the same orange colour as the mist separating the three from the dozen or so vampiric attendants around them. They spoke in muffled words as they struck the misty barrier dozens of times per second, relentless in their attempts to break in to aid their master. It was no use. The shield was capable enough to at least give the sorcerer a few moments of uninterrupted and foolish confrontation.
Varnae’s cheekpad twitched. It had been unwise, possibly arrogant, to let the sorcerer survive. It did not matter too much, however. The last time that they had encountered each other, the fight had lasted less than a minute.
“I give you this one chance.” The Aesir warned, his voice booming like the thunder that he mastered, “Surrender, and you shall be judged in peace.”
Varnae read the situation closely, doing his best to remove any pride or arrogance from his mind. He had defeated both individuals before, yet that was when they were broken and without power. Yet, he was still confident in his own abilities, as he had travelled for centuries through the cosmos. Such a knowledge of the mystic arts accounted for something. And, even if he was at a disadvantage, the barrier keeping his first wave of attendants away would break. His devoted cohort would take ease with only two opponents, even if one were a god. Varnae’s eyes traced back to the orb. All of that debate aside, there was the outcome. The return of the Atlantean culture. One that was worth risking death for, for without it, there was no point. Hannibal’s death would have been for nothing. Centuries in exile for nothing. An eternity alone.
Varnae roared. His feet slapped against the marble, turning the harsh surface into a prickly wave that grew and grew as it crashed towards Thor. Strange spun, chanting a new spell as he threw his shield towards Varnae. The ape clapped his large hands, shattering the red disk before spinning his hand. The shards of the shattered spell suddenly sharpened and hurled towards Strange as he finished his second spell. His cloak thrust him high into the air as the marble wave burst into bubbles and Thor leapt through them. His large arm threw itself to the side in a mad attempt at colliding his hammer into Varnae’s head. With shocking agility, Varnae ducked and spun, leaping onto his hands and using a small leg to strike Thor’s cheek. The god grunted as he staggered back, but Strange was quick to summon a barrier of flaming birds between them. It offered a poor distraction. Taking an enormous breath, Varnae exhaled a torrent of wind so powerful that the flames were ripped away, leaving only charcoal birds flapping aimlessly. The ape charged forwards, only for several bolts of lightning to fly from Thor’s hand. It did little, for Varnae’s body suddenly became transparent, and the lightning only burnt the walls behind them. Strange dropped to his feet. His hands turned a bright green as a dozen strands of similarly coloured rope flung onto Varnae’s ghostly body. The ape roared as he was held in place, and turned towards Strange. The beast spat, the saliva becoming as hard as steel and as fast a bullet as it was aimed towards Strange. The man’s body became loose and grainy, before it poured itself in two different directions. Two skinnier, sand-like Strange’s leapt forwards as they clapped their hands together several times. Burning blades sprunt out through the sand just as Thor managed to elbow Varnae’s left cheekpad.
The barrier around them weakened with each passing moment, especially as Strange preoccupied with himself with Varnae. More and more attendants gathered around them, intent to thrash and cut their way through the shield. The mist was thinner and thinner, eventually allowing several vampires to thrust their arms through it. That was enough to regain Strange’s attention. Leaping back as Thor lifted his hammer, the sorcerer formed several portals. One was directly above Varnae. The Aesir shouted as Mjolnir’s golden and blue runes lit up brightly. The smell of rain increased as dozens of bolts of lightning shattered through the air above the portal and cut their way towards Varnae. The ape’s fingers spun a spell within moments. Several circular shields shot out of his hand and rested about a metre from his head as bolt after bolt struck them. It provided enough of a distraction for Strange. Several more portals formed around the barrier, allowing the remaining members of the Avengers to slide down. Peter arrived first, only to stop and watch the site of Thor tackling Varnae to the ground before Strange attempted to impale him with a magical spear. The ape’s body turned to water, wrapping around their throats and tightening before Strange started to turn the watery body into ice. It was enough to make Peter refocus on an enemy that he may survive against.
It only took a few more minutes before the mist all but vanished into the air. It took less than a second later before Peter’s spine tightened. Leaping to his side, he was able to dodge two vampires charging for his throat. As fast as he could manage, he webbed one of them and bound their arms to their legs, but he was not quick enough to do so to both. The second vampire threw a swift fist at Peter’s head, the teen only just being able to catch it. Her eyes widened as her fist was slowly pushed away from the lanky person’s cheek. The pain in Peter’s hand was immense. Even the Rhino’s gigantic fists did not cause the arching within Peter’s already swelling hand. Yet, he still managed to push it back despite the vampire trying to thrust it forwards again.
“Stronger…than…I…look.” He groaned.
The vampire changed tactics. Her closed fist opened and latched onto Peter’s wrist. Before she had the opportunity to swing Peter into a wall, he leapt into the air and crashed into her chest using both feet. The action was enough to almost knock her off of the platform, and Peter was quick to web her feet to the edge as she fell, following with her arms to her sides. His victory was short-lived. His spine tightened immediately, prompting him to swing into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more vampires colliding with each other. Latching onto the slanted side of the chamber, Peter webbed the two of them together and watched as a circular shield slammed into their heads. Steve nodded to Peter, mouthing ‘Keep at a distance’ before turning and raising his shield. A vampire howled as their hand cracked against the magically enhanced metal, encouraging Steve to slam the shield into his head, knocking him to the floor. Much like Peter, it was a short victory. The soldier gasped as he found himself on his side, a hand on his throat and another holding his shield down. A spot of red dived onto top of the vampire before it was struck several times in the chest. As Peter attempted to box and dodge a clearly faster vampire, Steve rolled his waist and aggressively kicked the vampire holding his shield down. Even with Steve’s enhanced strength, it barely phased the foe. Steve continued to roll, grabbing onto vampire’s arm and yanking it away from the shield. The leverage was enough for Steve to raise his arm and shove the shield swiftly into the vampire’s jaw. The raw cracking sound was followed by a thud.
It all gave Steve enough time to jump to his feet and throw his shield towards the vampire snapping at Peter’s arms. The collision was met with a sickly sound as the shield cut through flesh. The teen in front of the ordeal staggered back, suddenly feeling very sick and seeming to have forgotten the situation around him.
“Spider-Man, focus.” Steve whispered sharply as he grabbed Peter’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, but I need you to focus.”
Peter nodded weakly, stumbling back as he slowly returned to reality. There simply wasn’t enough time for any more comfort than that. Steve turned, managing to shield himself from more punches from a furious vampire. He rolled to the side, but she was far faster. As soon as he rose, an impossibly powerful leg crashed into his ribs. An agonised shout left him before an even louder one came as he threw his shield towards her head. He was wheezing. It now hurt to walk as Steve collected his shield once more. The runes on his combat uniform were far dimmer than they had been, a testimony to the power behind the kick. Without the runes, even he would have been dead. With a pained exhale, Steve turned. As he did so, another vampire charged at his throat. Steve gritted his teeth as he punched his way forwards, slamming his shield into the vampire over and over again until the foe stopped throwing his own fists. Each movement became harder and harder for the man, and he had only just arrived. He could only hope with severe passion that the others would handle their respective tasks quickly.
Jennifer was having similar luck against her opponents. Being the largest target by far, many of the vampires charged towards her and Jackie. Her commendable strength only lessened her pain, not eradicated it. She shrieked as a pair of fangs pierced her lower leg. The vampire quickly released her, however, looking sick and ill as he tasted her blood. It provided enough of a distraction for Jennifer’s boot to collide with his nose, sending him hurling along the ground until he skidded off into the waters below. The blood only roused more attention, much to Jennifer anger. She simply wasn’t fast enough to catch all of them. Whilst her fists were already numb from shattering many immortal bones, several vampires managed to side stepped her, getting behind her. Powerful arms did their best to hold her own back, with another wrapping around her throat and squeezing. Jennifer’s eyes widened and watered as her oxygen was abruptly cut off. A blur sped into the vampire behind her leg arm. The weight of the vampire was soon gone after that. Jennifer quickly used her freed arm to thrust a fist blindly behind her, eventually hearing a nasty crack. The weight on her back became limp. With a turn of the heel, Jennifer reached for the final vampire holding her arm and thrust her forehead forward. The sound of a breaking nose was following by the sound an immensely powered fist crashing into a jaw. The vampire dropped.
Jennifer staggered back, doing her best to ignore the pain in her bleeding leg and the now current difficulty in breathing with an injured throat. Still, she did not give herself time for pause. Within a moment, another vampire tried his best with her. Jennifer was barely able to knock the opposing fist away. Another was thrust into her, managing to hit her shoulder and encase it with erupting pain. They were slow to retract it, however. Jennifer latched onto his wrist and pulled him close, landing a savage blow to his gut and then another to his temple. Like the others, he fell to the floor frothing and shaking. The pain was difficult to ignore, even with the adrenaline pouring through her veins. She needed to get through it, however. She was not dumb. She knew that hesitation would get her killed. As she charged towards a vampire attempting to sneak behind Strange, she groaned faintly as the pain increased. At least her knuckles and hands were numb. It aided her as she grabbed the back of the vampire’s head and slammed her into the ground. She doubted that she would last much longer if she could still feel them. Rising off of the ground, the giant woman turned to see yet another vampire charging at her. She was too slow, however. Jennifer’s ribs were blanketed in pain as a large shoulder smacked into them. Holding both of her fists together, Jennifer collided them with the back of the vampire’s head, but it wasn’t enough to knock him down. He staggered back, but the large man began to throw a barrage of fists at her. Jennifer was able to knock several of them away, but at least two struck her chin and her forearm. It was hard to tell at that point. It was only as she sidestepped the vampire and launched a horrific knee to his ribs that he slowly down considerably. Landing a following punch to the vampire’s head, Jennifer stepped back. Her breathing caused a sharp pain each attempt, and her body felt very stiff and cautious for some reason. She was not allowed further reflection. Another vampire stood before her, eager to test her worth.
Jackie sped past Peter, jumping up and using her body weight to slam a webbed vampire into the ground. She rolled on her feet, looking up to Peter ducking and moving to avoid the long arms of a very tall woman. The redhead leapt towards her, managing to throw several poorly formed punches that were easily blocked. However, it did give Peter enough time to go on the offensive as well. Between both Peter and Jackie, the vampire was slowly pushed back. It was a short victory, however, as she still managed to expertly block, dodge and counter every single hit that the two offered them. It was only when she leaned her upper body back to avoid Jackie’s fist that Peter webbed her feet to the ground. The awkward change in momentum made her begin to fall, but not before Jackie finally managed to land a blow to her head. By the looks of mildly annoyed the vampire became, it was not exactly a lethal of disabling strike. Still, enough was enough for Peter to web her entire body to the marble. Nodding his thanks, he swung into the air once more and flipped as he sprung his legs into an unsuspecting vampire circling Steve. It made Jackie mildly concerned, given her questionable success rate. At least she was still alive, so she had already surpassed her expectations.
She was not able to celebrate that fact. Her body suddenly jerked to the side, crashing into the wall as her body flowered with dull pain. Something grabbed her head, roughly turning her body to face them before grabbing her throat and slamming the back of her head into the wall with such force that it cracked. Jackie’s vision became hazy, her eyes blinking many times to refocus, but they never could. She was only just aware that there was a male above her, squeezing the life out of her throat. He snared and bared his fangs at her, his eyes wicked and furious.
“It is worth betraying your kind for them?” He slammed her head against the wall again, making her legs spasm, “Throwing away an empire. A utopia.”
He slammed her into the rock once more, making her gaggle softly. Her hands reached for his face, but he was too far away. He smirked before pressing her tighter, only to suddenly scream loudly as Jackie angled her lips down and thrashed her fangs through his palm. Like two blades, she cut in any direction that she could manage with the space that her neck had. She was released abruptly. Jackie allowed herself two panicked coughs as the vampire before her stared at his bleeding hand in horror. It was severely torn apart. Jackie grabbed onto it, making him scream louder, and latched onto his throat. She closed her eyes. The hand on his throat violently twisted to the left. His body weight became dead and, without being able to open her eyes, she dropped the body and stumbled away. Her breathing was oddly calm and still, and her body felt very numb. She didn’t look back as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t. With short steps and wide eyes, the increasingly panicked young woman simply ran forwards. With a numb body and shaken mind, she slid under a vampire’s fist and threw her own.
As Tony, Janet and Hank looked at the three orbs before them, none spoke. Not a single one of them understood what they were looking at, how it worked, or even where the ‘on’ button was. It was the most simplistic design for such a dangerous tool that any of them had seen. Tony, a genius by any metric, was honestly in awe of the device. Hank and Janet, however, more anxious and terrified. If they didn’t know the most basic element of how to turn it off, then they would be in severe trouble. It didn’t help that the object was clearly coated in magical symbols and devices. Simply blowing it up, as Tony originally suggested to the pair, may not be a practical option for any of them. Strange, in particular, was against the idea. As much as he hated the man, he knew that the sorcerer was the only one amongst them with any knowledge of Atlantean magic, and that was minimal as it was.
“I have no fucking idea what I’m looking at.” Tony admitted over the sounds of Thor pouring as much lightning as he could towards a serpentine Varnae.
Hank’s cheeks darkened. He had been secretly hoping that Tony would pull off yet another of his engineering miracles. Whilst he was hardly Atlantean, Tony still was incredible when it came to understanding technology. Hank guessed that he was being too optimistic, as usual.
“Well, we need to turn it off.” Janet cut in, “Or better, destroy it.”
“I don’t even know where the damn power source it.” Tony grunted as he stared at the tiny ball in front of him, “We could…This looks like a console, but that’s a fucking guess, man. A real goddamn guess.”
“Tony, we don’t have time.” Hank muttered, eyeing Peter as he desperately leapt away from two vampires trying to grab his ankles, “Press some buttons and-”
“There are no buttons!” Tony snapped, “Jesus.”
He carefully pressed his armoured finger over several areas of the centre orb, yet nothing happened. He lacked any equipment within his suit capable of being even remotely useful, making that a bust as well. He was not surprised. As the time came, he was useless, as usual. Tony’s purpose on the team was pointless, pathetic even. He was barely sober, severely hungover and struggled to move in his still creaking suit. His entire purpose was to solve the issue of the machine, and he couldn’t even do that. An idiot, both as a child and as an Avenger, it seemed.
The sound of a panicked yelp turned their attention. Jackie was held to the ground, her arm thrashing against an arm holding her to the ground as another vampire attempted to rip at her leg. Tony turned to the machine, squinted against the monitors near his eyes, and then turned back to Jackie. His eyes eased a little, as a sense of hope encased his heart.
“You guys do it.”
“No, we’ll help Jackie and-”
“Hank, I can’t.” Tony’s voice wavered somewhat, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m even looking at.” He pointed to the centre orb, “Not from the outside. Maybe on the inside. Shrink. Both of you. Ruin it from it from the inside.”
Both of the Pyms were motionless as they hastily registered the new situation that they found themselves in. Tony didn’t allow much time for further debate.
“You’ll be fine. You’re both smart the smartest ones here.”
It wasn’t said with negativity, nor self-loathing. It was an honest, well-meaning statement made Hank sigh in frustration. He had no idea what the hell he was even looking at. He turned to Janet, squeezed her hand and smiled behind his helmet. A moment later, they both pressed the seals on their belts. As they shrank, the couple leapt forwards and landed on the sleek metal of the orb. Out of paranoia, Hank made an effort to avoid the glowing markings that twisted and moved, much like a clock’s gears. Soon, the pair found a gap between two rotating rings and they slid within it. The temperature grew hot, very hot, as they landed between shifted mechanisms. It was unlike anything either had seen before. There were no computer chips, cogs, gears. There were tiny slabs of gold constantly shifting and moving, locking into new places and sliding out of them to rotate into a new slot. All were craved with glowing and changing markings that would shine when touching another slab or piece of the orb. The energy would shift from one part to the next, constantly travelling as it rotated. For the Pyms, it was like a rotating maze from hell. It was only due to their strength in such a small size that they were able to hold back several movement components and not be crushed. Soon, the component pressing against their helmets lifted again and the pair ran forwards, looking for the centre of the device.
Through cracks and holes, they travelled deeper and deeper into the centre orb. The temperature rose and rose, giving them hope to at least see some form of battery soon. As they pressed on, it was not a battery that they sound. A blinding blue light hit them as they dropped down onto a slab, only their helmets saving their eyes. Before them was a tiny rock, a crystal glowing a fantastic blue. It floated evenly between the gears, its aura seeming to hum and pulse into them.
“…oing to die. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…”
“…f they don’t hur…JENNIFER!”
“Stop. Fools. Just…STOP!”
“Why are we still here? This isn’t worth dying for the ape.”
“Run. JUST RUN!”
Janet staggered back, Hank needing to cup her back for support. She turned to him, her helmet hiding her wide and terrified eyes as the voices rose and rose, screaming in her head. She could feel anxiety that wasn’t hers. Passion and fear cut into her chest just as the strength of unruly determination made her feel as if she could rule a world. And then there was pain. A horrible, lonely agony, as if she was locked in a room and no one could hear her cries. It was the worst emotion that she had ever felt and it was being forced into her thoughts.
“What the hell is this thing?”
Tony grunted as he landed next to Steve. The soldier held his shield in front of Tony, grimacing as a vampire aiming for Tony collided with his weapon. As he knocked back the vampire, Tony raised his palm and a glorious beam of blue energy struck the vampire’s head. Their body shook as it dropped to the ground, the head hissing with steam. Tony grumbled in gratitude as he turned, aiming his palm towards Peter and the small vampire that was troubling him. He had long since given up on bullets against the things. It was useless. Before he could aid his friend, a horrible pain erupted in his arm as a vampire tackled it, knocking it off of its target. Tony bit into his lip, drawing blood as he struggled to use his arm. The vampire, using the opportunity, clawed at Tony’s chest, only for a shield to slice through its neck. Using his good arm, Tony returned the shield.
“Okay?” Steve asked, panting.
He was covered in blood. His suit was torn in many places, and his exposed skin only showed sweat and red stains. Tony waved his good hand in response, not trusting his voice. Steve nodded, not necessarily trusting his word. Tony didn’t care. He shifted his heels, activating the bulky rockets upon his boots. As he rose several metres, he suddenly dropped down, crashing into a vampire below. Before the startled vampire could react, a metallic arm was thrust into her jaw, knocking her along the ground. Despite it being a blow with his good arm, it was enough to make Tony’s body seize with pain. Suddenly, his ribs and back erupted in pain. As he turned, whomever was behind him turned faster. With an agonised yell, Tony rocketed into the air for a metre and then spun, randomly firing his beams at whoever was behind him. It managed to only hit the vampire’s leg and as he dropped to the ground, Tony was quick to shield himself with his forearms. The vampire growled in pain as he savagely threw punch after punch at Tony. Some were at his arms, others were at ribs and chest plate. Punch after punch, more symbols in Tony’s monitors turned red. His breathing tightened as pieces of metal cut into his skin. Before any further damage was allowed, Tony managed to grab onto his foe’s arm and watched a missile slide from a shoulder compartment. There was a grim satisfaction for Tony as he watched the vampire’s upper body become caked in darkness. The explosion drew much attention, however.
Several vampires who were dealing with other Avengers suddenly turned to look at him. Before they could charge, Tony activated very missile weapon that he still had an prepared to fire at whoever attacked him first.
“This is…No, it’s a dumb idea.” Janet called.
“I didn’t say it.” Hank replied in a cool manner.
“But I heard it. This thing is…screwing with our heads. It must be able to communicate thoughts.” Janet, hearing words within her mind yet again, turned back to Hank, “It’s too dangerous. It could burn you, or turn you insane. We don’t know what punching it would do, you idiot.”
Hank sighed in annoyance. There wasn’t enough time for this. He leaned forwards, but Janet was suddenly in front of him. Before he could argue, she held up a finger.
“I have a dumber idea.”
Images appeared within Hank’s mind, images so bizarre and ridiculous that Hank couldn’t help but chuckle. Janet didn’t. The lack of response made Hank frown deeply and he took a cautious step towards her.
“You’re…serious?”
“The odds that the metal’s density is…” She waved her hands, “And it’d work. We both know it would.”
Strange hissed as he rolled onto his back. The cloak hastily wiped him away before Varnae could land on his chest. The mighty ape roared again, only passively noticing a hammer flying towards him. Strange suddenly stood. Forming a cage of mirrors around Varnae and placing one in front of Thor. The Aesir understood the concept quickly. Summoning Mjolnir, the god hurled it into the mirror in front of him. It disappeared only to fly out from one of the mirrors around Varnae. The sound of countless claps of thunder shook the chamber as the hammer struck Varnae, slid through a mirror and reappeared through another, striking Varnae again. Strange could only watch in horror as the weapon only bruised the ape. At most, it had cut his skin in several areas. Even Thor was quite as he noticed the lack of results. His eyes flashing, he reclaimed Mjolnir as the mirrors vanished and attempted to pour as much lightning forth as possible. Varnae was too quick. He hissed, the air turning into a sonic shriek that made Thor cry out in agony.
Strange formed a portal and leapt into the air. Earth was gone. Before him was a darkness, a foreign land. A silent, still world with only a stream of cosmic red energy resembling a lake. Strange, whilst descending, clapped his hands and slowly pulled them apart. A large axe was pulled out, one that he pushed to below his feet. The axe hummed as it was bathed in the cosmic energy and, still in his leap, Strange formed a portal back to Earth. A moment later, Strange screamed as he threw his axe down. Varnae turned the shield aimed at Thor and even leapt towards Strange in defiance and challenge. The two met with a shockwave that sent Peter and Jackie staggering backwards. The entire chamber temporarily stopped their own battles to see the magical pair recover from the collision. Both flew backwards, Strange shaking as he tried to get air back into his stricken body. Varnae rolled onto his feet, touching the severe cut on his forehead that the vanishing axe had managed.
That was not what angered him so. No, it was the shattered sound of metal and a concerned set of shouts. Varnae turned, his body motionless as all air left him. The middle orb now laid shattered upon the floor. Dozens of rings and cycles rested disconnected from the others, the machine now utterly broken. Within the middle of the wreckage was a pair of two humans clothed in leather and a strange, bulbous helmet with antennae. It was gone. The two larger spheres became quiet, the light within them slowly dying. It was gone. The room was silent. Atlantis’ last hope had died. The culture killed. The greatest moment in Earth’s history would never be repeated. Hannibal’s death was for naught. Varnae’s exile meant nothing. His efforts meant nothing. He was alone, and now he was doomed to suffer the eternal cruelty of always being alone. A fate he had dreaded for too long. A fate now forced upon him by the two humans looked at him.
“Do not…interfere.” He whispered to his remaining underlings, all immediately hiding in the shadows after hearing such a tone.
A ferocious shriek left the ape as he lunged at them. They vanished before could reached them, and Varnae suddenly field a sticky rope latch onto each of his arms in an attempt to hold them back. Varnae turned, yanking the skinny, red-clothed human towards him as he screamed. They deserved to die. There was no possible justification for the Atlantean culture to die when they could survive. They didn’t deserve it. They wouldn’t. But before the boy was struck by Varnae, two sets of upwards fists rose from between his feet with such force that he stumbled back. With another roar, Varnae swatted them away. With his fingers dancing, he formed two portals just as the armoured man fired two beams at him. Two beams that suddenly struck his own back, forcing him to role onto the ground. Varnae jumped towards him, but the tall male rolled in front his friend and raised his shield in his defence. Varnae slammed both fists into the shield, roaring like a wounded lion as he belted the runes out of it. He could hear the mounting pain in the man’s breathing as he was pushed inches and inches back. Soon, he was almost touching his armoured friend as he rose into the air and fired pathetic weaponry towards him. Varnae swiped forwards, his fingers turning to vines and ripping at the weapons. After pulling them off, he hurled the man into the shield-barrier, sending them both to the ground.
Varnae turned, grabbed the Aesir’s hand as he threatened to slam his weapon into Varnae’s turned head. The ape growled, leaning in close as the god charged as much magic into his body as he could. It mattered little.
“You…should never…returned.” Varnae hissed.
The god shouted, releasing the lightning stored in his body. Varnae winced, his vision aching at the brightness. Varnae leapt back, avoiding another attempt at having his head knocked off. The Aesir bellowed as he spun his hammer several times before unleashing it. Varnae clapped his hands, forming a thick wall of ice that shattered. It was still able to slow down the hammer enough for Varnae to sidestep it and slam a shoulder into the god. Thor slid back, reaching out and grabbing both of Varnae’s fists but the ape was relentless. He slammed his forehead into Thor’s several times until Thor pushed away from him and delivered a swift strike to Varnae’s jaw. Thunder cracked but Varnae barely registered it. The ape responded by forming a portal below Thor and on behind Varnae, making Thor drop behind Varnae where an elbow cracked into his head. The god struggled to focus as he made poor attempts to pick himself up from the ground. A large hand grabbed his throat and pulled him up. Yet, before Varnae could do anything, something struck the back of his head.
A tall, green woman landed in front of him, adding enough pressure on Varnae with another jab to the chest for the ape to drop the Aesir. Varnae easily knocked back her punches, much to her frustration, and struck her forehead. The woman’s eyes became foggy, and her following punches became loose and undisciplined. Varnae suddenly growled as something collided with both of his ankles. He jumped back, seeing nothing as his feet swelled with pain. He squinted, murmuring a spell. Two dots of heated energy were slowly running towards him. Varnae growled, forming two cubes and dropping them on top of them. The green woman made another attempt at swinging at his face. Something wet attached itself to his left arm and Varnae howled as a violent force attempted to pull it out of his socket. He still had one arm capable of grabbing the green woman’s throat. His own throat soon tightened. A small set of arms latched around themselves and squeezed his neck with all that they could. Foul pain cut into his shoulder as he felt fangs razor side to side, desperate to slice any flesh apart that it could. Varnae threw off the green woman but the force around his throat sped away, only to launched at his chest in an attempt to knock him down. The pathetic excuse for a vampire only managed to insert her small shoulder into Varnae’s gut. A large fist collided with her back, knocking her down but only temporarily. She was quick to stand once more, panting and glaring at Varnae with as much hatred as the sorcerer did. The girl sped to the side before attacking the side with a webbed arm. She was able to latch onto it, squeeze it to the point of pain and thrust her fangs inwards. Varnae growled as his arm was sliced, and he was hasty to murmur a spell. A bolt of lightning shot from his fingertips like a bullet and struck her, forcing her body to convulse as she dropped to the ground.
He stood above her, his arm thinning and growing until a large blade stood in place of his arm. Without hesitation, he thrusted it towards her throat, but a magical shield suddenly blossomed between them. As the blade hit it, sparks burst into Varnae’s face. He growled but reached for the smaller vampire’s ankle, sliding her under the shield and lifting her into the air. He made a second attempt at madly impaling her, but once more, the blade bounced back. Her skin was a blue hue as runes grew on it. Varnae snarled, turning to sorcerer crawling on the floor across from them. His cloak disappeared, lost in Lightning poured from Varnae’s hand, making the girl scream in severe pain whilst Varnae threw a second bolt at the sorcerer. To his surprise, the lightning aimed at the human was pulled into Mjolnir, the hammer soaking it up. Before Varnae understood what was happening, a fabric was around the girl’s collar and yanking her from his grip with surprising force. Varnae refused to relinquish his hold, but a blob of a web struck his face and cut off his airways. He released the girl, allowing her to flee as he freed his face.
Varnae turned, watching as the skinniest of his miniscule enemies formed another web to the ceiling and then hurled it to Varnae’s arm in a foolish attempt at binding him. Many ropes stuck to Varnae’s wrists and arms, all attached to the ground or the walls. Once locked in place, the teen formed two more webs that he held, pulled back and used to launch himself as Varnae’s head. The ape’s body turned transparent once more, allowing him to easily slide away from his body and for the boy to fly straight through him. As he passed through Varnae’s chest, the ape’s body hardened and grabbed his throat, violently slamming him into the ground. Wheezing and a faint cough escaped the boy, but he surprised Varnae with a very powerful kick to his face. Varnae howled as he staggered back, wincing as blood dropped from his slitted nose. More sticky substance wrapped around his arms, but Varnae ripped them apart just as the green one struck the back of his shoulders several times. Varnae spun, clapping two closed fists together and watched as foam popped and expanded around her ankles. The green one hissed as she tried to escape, but she only tripped and allowed her legs to be encased in more of the residue. Varnae turned back to the boy, who had risen and was bold enough to try a direct punch at Varnae’s face. He caught it. Twisting it, Varnae smirked at the agonised yell that resulted from it. He turned to the side, avoiding a flying hammer as the Asgardian charged at him once more. Tired beyond belief at the Aesir, Varnae drew on the ground with his foot. The marble floor snapped around Thor. Large chunks of rock rose into the air and hurled themselves at the so called god, who hastily attempted to knock each away with his hammer.
Varnae turned back to the boy, but before he could squeeze the life from his throat, a metal object collided with his face. Varnae grimace, snarling as his face bled even more. His grip on the boy laxed as the tall human slid before the ape, kneeling and striking at his left set of ribs several times before rising up and aiming for his eye socket. Varnae threw his arm down like a wave, yet the human was prepared and ready. Varnae watched as the fighter stepped to the side, kicked up his shield into his hand with a pained expression and flung it towards Varnae’s weakened ribs. The ape caught it, but something sharp collided with his hand as he did so. Two more sets of pressure pushed into his hand to the point of digging into the bone. He clapped his second hand on his first, only for a miniscule force to knock it away. Varnae’s eyes turned to the ground for a split moment. The cube prisons were no longer in existence. The sorcerer’s work, no doubt. Varnae snarled, forming lightning around his hand and watching two people immediately expand as they shrieked. Before Varnae could strike them, web knocked his fist off course and the solder’s shield smacked into his elbow. The ape spun, using the momentum to knock into the soldier’s own ribs, making him scream out and drop to the ground. Using a small foot, Varnae kicked him to the ground. A tiny force sprung up, a fist meeting Varnae’s cheekpad, before the person shrunk once more. Varnae growled. They were by far the most annoying of the fools. Inhaling, he sent forth a gust of wind just as another tiny punch crushed a finger. Pain flared and Varnae’s jaw tightened as he watched two tiny figures blow away like dirt in the wind.
Varnae turned, seeing a shaking young human staring back at him. To Varnae’s minor interest, the bleeding and bruised child did not back away. He stayed where he was, readjusting something around his rest. Varnae leaned forward, but the boy was suddenly ripped away. A cloak was upon his neck, pulled the boy behind the sorcerer. Varnae almost chuckled as he stepped forwards. The sorcerer was panting, covered in sweating, and bleeding in many areas. His armour was burnt, his robes torn. The order truly had fallen to its lowest peak before being snuffed out, it seemed.
“You…will…die...as…the…rest.” Varnae said simply.
The sorcerer didn’t react in any visible way other than to slide into a defensive stance. A burning spear poured from his hand as another shield formed around his other arm.
“I know.” The man replied, his voice derived of any emotion.
Varnae’s lip twitched. The two charged at each other once more, Varnae immediately outrunning the tired sorcerer. His body became water once more, sliding before the sorcerer and expanded as an ape once more below him. Grabbing onto an ankle, Varnae tried to slam the man’s neck into the ground but the spear sliced into his palm. His hand erupted into thick veins and a sour shade of purple as the poisonous spell cut through his body. Varnae hissed, instead dropping the man and punching his chest. His flew back, not even able to scream as his ribs cracked. Varnae watched as a several strands of magical energy wrapped around the man’s chest, trying to heal the damage quickly. The sorcerer, still on the ground, spun both of his hands with a loud scream. Two disks formed, and he placed them together where a large beam of red energy escaped. Varnae snarled forming a shield that absorbed the blow. He threw his hands forth, sending the shield towards the man who had to roll away from it. His shouted again, hurling many glowing blue daggers at Varnae before extending his arms by his side. Tears were dropping onto the ground as glowing lines appeared above him. Lines that soon connected to form many moving shapes. Dragons, lions, rhinos and other beautiful beasts. His teeth gritted as he struggled to summon so many, yet his eyes never left Varnae.
“I know.” He repeated softly.
The beasts all charged at Varnae. He leapt above the lion, slicing its head off. As he rolled to the ground, he impaled many flying birds around him using magical shards that he soon reformed as a gigantic pillar thrust as a spear into the dragon. As he fought the beasts, Varnae suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the sorcerer thrusting a glowing purple blade into his chest. Varnae seized, growling as he grabbed the man’s hand and squeezed. The resulting shrieks lifted through the chamber as the weapon was slowly forced out of Varnae’s body. The sorcerer was pushed back as Varnae clutched his wound, wheezing louder. The two glared at each other once more, before both immediately summoning flames and frost to hurl at the other. Both attacks fizzled and hissed, not having much effect. To his reluctant surprise, this fight with such lowly beings had lasted longer than Varnae had expected. It was clear that they were not as foolish as some of his children had claimed.
The human began chanting, each lyric becoming louder than the last. Tiny orbs of blue energy formed around him, latching onto one another like webs. As they grew and grew, the sorcerer shouted. The pillars around them shattered. Tiny blue sparks faded around huge slabs of debris and Varnae hastily formed several layers of shields around them. The sorcerer did not hurl them into Varnae. No, the orbs around him fizzed as the debris pooled together in the air above them, latching on to other pieces as blue energy formed around it like a skin. A large, stone dragon formed. Varnae almost admired the skill behind the magical feat. As the creature roar and flapped two mighty wings, the ape began to swirl his fingers as quickly as he could. The dragon screeched once more before diving downwards, the chamber shaking as its weight. A portal formed above the dragon. Several colossal, thick tentacles slid downwards and wrapped around the conjured beast. Its purple scales shone dimly in the poor light, and the sorcerer’s eyes scrunched in anger as he watched his creation being pulled into a fiery and utterly known realm. After thrashing and roaring, the dragon and its attacker disappeared behind the portal, which itself soon closed afterwards.
The sorcerer’s teeth clenched. His veins swelled. Their texture darkened into a severe red until the very cells of blood could be seen glowing within his skin. One after the other, the sorcerer’s legs rose in the air until he began to meditate whilst hovering. The air changed. It seemed to thicken and hum. Holding one opened palm above the other, faint trails of golden energy began to bounce back from one to the other. His veins glowed a more fantastic gold as strand after strand of energy began to hiss violently in his hands. His eyes never left Varnae, even as they started to water. Eyes that were tight, shaking and completely removed of any fear of the consequences of what he was trying to do. Varnae growled. Throwing his arms forward, ropes in the shape of vipers charged towards the man. Several strands of web intercepted them and pulled to the side. Varnae suddenly jerked to the right, snarling at the boy and summoning a dagger of purple energy. With blinding speed, it was thrown. With even more speed, it was dodged as the boy threw himself to the ground. It was enough time for Varnae to turn back to the sorcerer. He opened his own palm. A dozen more purple daggers appeared around him. A burning pain made Varnae growl and turn. The armoured one, lying on his back, was holding a shaking arm towards him. Varnae flicked a finger towards him, sending two of the daggers at him. Two blobs of web were sent towards them, prompting Varnae to send a third. As two of them were knocked away, Varnae grunted as he heard an airless gasp of agony across the room.
Varnae turned back to the sorcerer, his blank face still staring directly at him. A silent moment passed between them as they read each other’s eyes. Hatred met pain, and loathing met apathy. With trails of tears dropping down his cheeks, the sorcerer screamed as he pulled his hands away. The hundreds of strands of energy hissed loudly as both palms were aimed directly at Strange. Varnae knelt, pouring all of his concentration into a shield as what sounded like a bomb erupted a metre away from him. His shield shook and his body began to slide backwards as roaring golden energy ate, licked and struck at his barrier. The sorcerer’s veins poured as much energy as they could muster into the energy. The walls shook. The floors cracked. The air itself seemed to become toxic. The excess energy poured around Varnae like a wave. Wherever they touched, the matter was burnt beyond recognition. Second after second, the shield cracked as the sorcerer gave it everything. Inch by inch, Varnae slid backwards, nearing the edge already. With a scream, Varnae thrusted his arms forward, pushing the burning shield further away from him. The added pressure against the energy was enough. Whilst the chamber was burnt, shattered and torn, it was still not enough to compete with Varnae’s craft. Soon, the energy became weak and empty until nothing remained. There was only the sound of a gasping man.
Varnae removed his shield, seeing a shaking man on his knees before him. The golden hue of his veins had faded, the energy gone. All that remained were trails of blood where the veins had been. His hands were shaking, idly touching a pool of blood in front of him. Air was painful for him to intake, and it was clearly a struggle to remain upright. Yet, despite all of that, he still stared at Varnae with that defiant determination to kill him. Slowly, a panting Varnae crept towards him. The pair did not utter a word or any spell as the space closed between them. Soon, Varnae towered before him. Two members of two societies. There was a strange comfort in that, like it was a shared trait that meant they weren’t entirely alone in experiences. At least, that was what Varnae felt. Soon, a purple dagger formed in Varnae’s hand. The sorcerer stared at it briefly, looking at it with contempt. Looking back at Varnae, a green blade soon appeared within his hand as well. The pair stared at one another, both accepting of the different outcomes of what was about to happen.
Something was roaring. Something soft, barely audible, but it was growing swiftly. Soon, the entirety of the chamber was filled with the noise. Varnae carefully looked around, expecting to see another beast or trick from the human. There was none. It was only water. The lake below rose and rose as water crashed along the shattered and burnt walls. Varnae looked back to the human. He was as confused as Varnae was. It was not his trick. Within moments, the water had risen to the point of reaching the platfrom. Varnae stepped back, but something crashed into his back. His ability to breathe was cut off as water forced itself into his mouth and nostrils. His body was thrown into a wall as a torrent of water belted his entire body. It felt like thousands of tiny horses charging into his flesh every single second. The air was ripped from his body as the water made him choke. He was faintly aware of a man standing in the middle of the platform, a sceptre in his hand and aimed at Varnae. The torrent weakened only for a whip of water to crack against Varnae’s chest, making him shudder as he dropped to the drop. His torment did not end. His body was encased in a watery bubble that was thrown violently into the pavement a moment later. Varnae gasped, his lungs burning. As he hastily rolled into his back, he stopped as he saw several spears pointed at his face. In his severe state of confusion, he struggled to understand who it was that had interrupted his feeble victory.
Before him stood a dozen individuals in thin, lean armour that shone silver. Each had patterns of aquatic animals, particularly of sharks and leopard seals. Their helmets were almost transparent and shaped like a dolphin’s beak, revealing dark blue cheeks and short, jet-black hair on all of them. Their arms and legs were mostly exposed, showing blue skin marked with white paint. They were lean, but not an ounce of fat or wasted mass on any of them. Varnae growled, his fingers already preparing another silent spell. A loud, mocking voice spoke in a language that stilled Varnae’s fingers. It was broken and very rough, but the words and meaning could be understood. His eyes weakened as his body lost all strength in it, for it was first time in centuries that he had heard the language. A tall man with pale skin and black hair stood next to the guards, a sceptre in hand. He eyed the Varnae with uncertainty, as if he were some animal that had been found by some road. After registering the comment, Varnae spoke once more in the old tongue.
“I don’t…understand.” He said weakly, “What…What is this? Who are you?”
The man buffed out his chest, seeming to enjoy the question.
“I am Namor, Prince of Atlantis.” His smirk shifted into contemplation, “And you are Varnae, the beast of the old empire. We heard about your retu-”
“Atlantis is alive?” Varnae asked desperately, struggling to control his emotions, “It…It fell. It was destroyed. I do not…How?”
As he spoke, Varnae’s eyes turned to the blue creatures holding weapons at his throat. Namor seemed to notice what was drawing his attention. His posture tightened, as if the topic caused him great discomfort. As Namor spoke, Varnae became away that something metallic was being clamped around each wrist and ankle. Suddenly, the magical energy in his hands and feet were cut off, only adding to his growing sense of fear. He had been with magic for his entire life. Without, it was just too silent. It was terrifying.
“The Collapse…caused many hardships. But like with all of our history, we survived with,” His eyes scanned the blue skin of his kin, “sacrifice. Our domain is the seas, as it once was the land.”
Namor turned, inspecting the shattered chamber around them. He sighed, seemingly only idly interested in one of the greatest relics of his ancestors. As he paced in a lazy circle, Varnae was able to look behind the prince. In a perfect row and on their knees were his underlings. All of them. Over a dozen and a half vampires knelt inches apart from each other, all having spears pointed at their throats. The speed required to…Varnae could not understand. Perhaps it was a trick, or an illusion. Perhaps he had been impaled by the sorcerer, and this was his hell.
Namor murmured something in a vaguely familiar language. Some of the words could be interpreted by Varnae, but many others were entirely new. The prince rolled his eyes and gestured to several areas on the platform. His commander nodded before clicking her fingers and sending several troops around the area. They were walking towards the human sorcerer and his comrades. The soldiers knelt and began administering strange ointments and pouring foul smelling liquids into their mouths, regardless of if they were conscious or not. Varnae turned back to Namor.
“I was rebuilding the old ways.” Varnae explained, “They destroyed it, but perhaps we can rebuild it, and u-”
“You think…I would want such cruelty on this world?” Namor asked in genuine horror.
Varnae was silent, confused. The prince shook his head in disgust, his arrogance fading away for a moment.
“Some things are best left in the past. This,” he pointed to the ruined chamber around them, “is one of them. No one deserves to be controlled their entire lives.”
Varnae’s eyes hardened as he finally understood what was happening.
“I was.”
“And what did that turn you into? Your actions almost brought back a period of our history I don’t like.” His pompous tone was returning, “The old days failed for a reason. I won’t repeat the mistakes of long dead idiots.”
“Those idiots created a utopia.”
“Through a lot of pain and vile cruelty.”
Namor turned and walked away, seeming to be done with the conversation. Varnae did not know what to think, or what to do. His efforts had been needless. They had survived in the first place, yet never attempted to contact him. Not only that, they had mutated into blue, water dwelling creatures. The final insult was the view of the old days. It made Varnae feel sickened. It was for nothing. All of it. Hannibal’s death, the exile, the whole endeavour. Nothing. Varnae became still, more still than he had ever been in his life. Breathing seemed pointless. Living did. Everything was. He had lost his magic, his purpose, his family. And it was all for nothing.
“You handled yourself with better strength than expected.” Namor said smugly.
Steve limped in front of him, heaving with many broken ribs. There was more red than blue to his suit, and the shield behind him was coated in many foul substances. Despite his cockiness, Namor was mildly impressed at how well a human had done, ignoring the small detail about his enhancements. Steve managed a very tired smile.
“I had help.” His smile tightened, “Not from you, though. Traffic in the oceans?”
Namor scoffed, slamming his sceptre into the ground and putting his hands behind his back.
“I arrived when needed. You were handling yourselves well, for the most part. But alas, I was needed to…finish the job.”
“Well, aren’t you kind and generous. How’d you know where we were?”
“I have ways of watching the seas.” Namor smirked again, “That, and sensing the unusually extreme amount of magic that was being used within the middle an abandoned catacomb. One with…more secrets than we know.” Namor admitted with a sigh, “Still, I struck when needed.”
“Catching Varnae off guard instead of fighting him head on.” Steve’s tone was highly judgemental.
“I could not have arrived?” Namor’s smirk deepened, “I see this as a mutual victory.” Namor whispered so only Steve could hear, “I remove your threat and save lives, and I return to my kingdom victorious over a returning threat from our ‘noble’ past. There are worse ways for this to have happened.”
Steve grunted, not entirely convinced. Before he could counter Namor’s view, the prince cleverly directed a healer towards his direction. Steve was suddenly attended to someone that barely spoke any form of human language, seeming to have a poor understanding of Spanish, of all things. Namor waddled past, admiring the sight of his sudden and brief victory. He frowned, noticing his guards struggling to hold a thrashing vampire down.
“Oh,” He suddenly remembered, “Release that one. She’s apparently domesticated.”
Jackie snarled as she was roughly pulled to her feet and released. She snapped her fangs at the nearest Atlantean, making her jump silently and raise her spear. Namor tattered, motioning for them to disburse. He turned and resumed his smug little walk, seeing several others that he had not met previously. An armoured man who was being pulled from his suit. It appeared heavily dented and warped, which was no doubt hindering his ability to breathe. He was also bleeding heavily from the ribs. Someone had stabbed the barely conscious man. Still, he was alive. Namor’s attendants who see to that. The prince also eyed a pair that were huddled together, sitting and leaning on one another. They were leather suits, with domed helmets at their sides. Utterly horrible designs. They repulsed Namor to no end. Then, there was a very skinny, tall teenage that was delirious from so many strikes to the head. His eyes were unfocussed as he spoke gibberish whilst walking away from the healer trying to get him to sit down. All in all, it was a bizarre bunch indeed.
“What do you call yourselves?” Namor asked loudly, turning to Steve from across the platform.
Steve chuckled, wincing and grimacing as he did. After flinching and trying to follow the stern instructions of the healer, he looked back to Namor.
“The Avengers.”
“Avengers?” Namor grinned, “An interesting title.”
The sound of heavy footsteps drew Namor’s attention. A giant of a man stood in front of him, making Namor’s lip twitch.
“One with meaning to us all.” Thor said gravely.
Wisely choosing to hold back a sarcastic remark, Namor merely nodded in understanding. The sight of a sore, cut up and clearly depleted Nordic god made Namor appreciate the severe threat that was Varnae. If a god was put on the defence by him, then perhaps Namor had been wise, if not unfair, in arriving at just the right time. It was not as if he was abandoning them to die. He would have intervened. He thought so, at least. His pondering was cut off by a beautiful sight. His grin grew as he saw a familiar face sitting by the edge of the platform. Puffing out his chest, he strutted towards her back like a peacock.
“You look as bountiful as ever.” He said gently as he arrived.
He heard a deep sigh from the beautiful jade giant, but she did not turn around to look at him. It made his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.
“Prince Namor.” She greeted, “Thank you for…helping.”
“No need to thank me. It was…a…team effort.” The term felt odd on his tongue, yet he seemed, in a bizarre, to legitimately think that he had contributed as much as the Avengers had, “I’m certain that you held him at bay longer than the others.”
She snorted. Once more, she did not turn around. Namor’s jaw tightened. With an exhale, he prepared to sit next to her when he saw a hand being offered to him. He followed it to see a smiling teenager with dirty cheeks and ruffled hair. Namor said nothing, only staring at the hand. Peter quickly put it away.
“Is…Is it not allowed to shake royal hands? Man, I’m sorry. Is it a crime? Look, I’m tired. I’m not thinking straight, I think I had internal bleeding but maybe that blue chick who kinda speaks Spanish healed me, and I-”
“Do you usually talk to absurdly fast?” Namor wrinkled his nose, “How old are you?”
“Se…Seventeen?”
“And you survived Varnae?” He glanced over the suit that Peter was wearing, “Are you…one of those mutant humans in that jet? What do you do?”
“Ah,” Peter shrugged a little and exhaled, “Kinda swing…to things. Crawl on walls. Punch stuff. Sense things. Team morale.”
“Huh.” Namor did not seem impressed, “Well, the older ones were having a discussion, so…”
“Namor,” Jennifer sighed as she rose, “With complete respect to royals,” She stared down at him blankly, “fuck off.”
Namor was only half listening to her. He was too focussed on seeing her new outfit for the first time, an outfit that showed such perfect legs and hips. He blinked several times, having to remind himself to respond to her. As he did so, he noticed that Peter was glaring at him. His ogling had not been subtle.
“Ah, yes. What?” He asked, suddenly understanding her last comment.
The exhausted woman rolled her eyes and began to walk away, gesturing for Peter to follow her. Namor huffed softly in mild jealousy, but he allowed himself the secondary prize of what her wonderfully sculpted rear move as she left. She truly was divine.
One by one, the Avengers regained consciousness and picked themselves. Tony groggy woke up, only to start flaring his palms around as if they were still weaponised. With red cheeks, he stood up and asked Thor who the ‘blue dudes and dudettes’ were. Upon hearing the answer, the man merely grunted and remained silent. Strange was the last to awaken, needing the largest amounts of liquids and concoctions to replenish what his spells had taken from him. The Cloak of Levitation waited patiently at his side, floating next to him to ensure he was safe. Held up by Steve, Strange’s glassy eyes instantly locked on Varnae. Several moments later, Namor stepped towards the group.
“I believe this is where we return to our quieter lives.”
“And Varnae?” Jackie asked, crossing her arms.
“My people will have him stand trial for what he tried to do. Trying to control the world and resurrect less…favourable elements of our past is not something we encourage. Especially when it comes to using dangerous and long forgotten relics. Relics that are…best left in the past.”
As he spoke, he gestured to a set of soldiers in a tight, squared formation. In the middle was a pair of them holding a stone box with many cravings and glowing runes. Strange read them quickly, noticing just how many of them were locks and protection spells. Very advanced and lethal spells.
“What is within that?” He whispered with a dry throat.
“The power source.” Janet stated, not asking, “It screws with minds, does it? The stone.”
Jennifer, along with several of the others, tilted their heads at this. Even Hank was glaring at the box and what was locked within it. As far as the rest of the Avengers were concerned, they hadn’t seen any stones amongst the wreckage at all, only metal scrap.
“The gem is best left secure.” Namor stated shortly, “Deep within the bottom of the seas. Not even my people want it.” Namor added softly, “Still, it must be accounted for.”
“You still didn’t answer what it is.” Steve pointed out.
Namor smiled and patted Steve’s shoulder. He turned to Varnae, tattering again. The ape was sitting upright, his ankles and wrists bound. His face was hunched over, forlorn and miserable as he pondered all that had just been revealed. Strange leaned forwards.
“He needs more than a trial.” He growled.
Steve’s hand gently pushed his shoulder back. The sorcerer glared at him, but Steve shook head.
“You’ve already won, Stephen. And honoured your friends.”
Strange was silent, staring at Steve for several moments. He soon looked away, feeling overwhelmed by many emotions. It had been a long day, and he needed some alone time to recover from it. To recover from Varnae and the battle itself. Namor clicked his tongue.
“If it makes you feel better, sorcerer, he’s hardly going to have a fond experience. The prison that I have in mind is hardly a nursery.”
“I wanted to honour…us.”
Namor turned, seeing Varnae still staring at the ground. The prince stepped away from the Avengers, walking over to inspect the downcast creature. In an odd way, it was hard not to pity the creature. There was something romantic about bringing back a long dead civilisation, at least, it was so in Namor’s uptight mind.
“The empire fell. All empires fall. It is nature. We exist now. We are Atlantis’ sons and daughters, not what you wanted to create.”
Varnae slowly looked up, his eyes actually wet. He peered into Namor’s eyes and spoke with a weak, almost child-like voice.
“Will…Will I be with other Atlanteans…in the prison.”
Namor gritted his teeth, but, having the smallest amount of pity for the creature that his own ancestors created, nodded. There was some truth to Steve’s words. Varnae was Atlantis’ problem, after all.
“Yes, you will.”
The smallest amount of life grew in Varnae’s eyes. He looked down, nodded, and remained silent. Namor turned to the vampires kneeling in front of his guards.
“Shall we execute them for you?” He asked Steve, “I’m happy to do so.” He shrugged.
Steve sighed, his eyes flicking to Varnae for a brief second. A pained expression overcame him as he limped forwards.
“I…We, uh, made a deal. Varnae’s children want to divide the assets up.”
Varnae’s lip twitched. He instantly guessed the implication of the remark. Even his own children had abandoned him. The ape’s closed eyes tightened, for that was one of the sharpest pains that he had ever felt. It was clear that he had misread a lot within his plans. His own family did not believe in him enough, so much so that made a deal with the enemy. It had been a cruel day indeed for the gigantic orangutan.
“Let them loose?” Namor snorted, “I suppose they won’t last long, anyway. Vampires can be such territorial creatures. They’ll probably die fighting off a village to feed on.” Namor grunted.
He murmured something to his soldiers. They were quick to being prodding the vampires, pushing them onto their feet and forcing them towards the entrance that they had arrived in. Namor turned, seeing a hand being offered to him.
“Thank you.” Steve said earnestly.
Namor allowed himself a small smile, shaking his hand. Peter’s mouth gaped a little before muttering to himself.
“I do hope we meet again. This has been…interesting.”
“Prince Namor.”
“Captain Rogers.” He nodded.
He turned and began walking away, only to stop as he passed Jennifer.
“As I said early, my kingdom is forever open to you.”
“Okay.” Jennifer stated in a blunt tone.
Namor’s eyebrow twitched again. With his usual strut, the prince led his collection of Atlanteans towards the water around them. Great care was taken with the magical box that they held, one that Strange and Steve eyed with great apprehension. The lack of answers was not enjoyed. Varnae was led in last, a bubble of his downcast head. After a few more moments, the chamber was silent. Varnae, the last of an ancient culture, was finally gone. The entire ordeal was over. Weeks of panic, stress, pain, and loss were at an end. It was done. All that was left was the numbness that remained.
Jackie didn’t know what to feel. The being that cursed her entire life was now gone. While relief, she was also on the verge of tears. Whether it was out of pain or happiness, she didn’t know. She just wanted to cry and let it out. Tony was still. He had actually helped. They had won. The Avengers had won, and he had actually held off, for a few seconds, Varnae. He had been victorious, for once. It was such a strange feeling that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Then, once he had accepted it, a gentle smile formed. Peter was leaning into Jennifer heavily. Whilst they believed that the Atlantean had treated him, there was honestly no way of knowing until Strange or another human doctor examined him. The fact that he was still sleepy and needing Jennifer to hold him up wasn’t encouraging. Yet, even with his muddled mind, he was ecstatic. He had defeated villains before, but never in a team. For some reason, it made the victory all the more sweeter. Hank and Janet were content to just hold each other. The fact that both of them were safe and only sporting a few probable broken bones was a relief that made them want to cry. Strange was staring into nothingness, his face harsh.
“We should have killed him.” He whispered bitterly.
“That wouldn’t have helped you.” Steve replied lowly, “Besides, I doubt being under Namor’s care will be a paradise.”
“God, no.” Janet muttered, “Absolute prick.”
Thor grunted, nodding. A smile soon formed on his bearded face, however. Placing his hands on Hank and Tony's shoulders, he gave an exhausted but warm look to the others. It was a look that soon made several others smile gently, despite the heaviness to their eyes and bodies.
“It has been a long journey for us all. Let us rest before celebrating, for I feel like emptying a town of its mead.”
***
A/N: Thank you all for reading this story! I really hope you’ve enjoyed it, and it’s honestly been a blast to read and interact with you all.
Sorry for taking so long. Hopefully the conclusion makes up for it (and the length isn’t too much. I really wanted to give everyone a moment to shine). There WILL be one more chapter, the epilogue. The epilogue will be the aftermath of the story on each character’s lives, and a lil indicator of where they’ll be heading towards in the future. And then the sequel, The People We Choose to Be, so keep an eye out if you’re interested.
If you have any feedback or requests for things in the sequel, feel free to leave a comment or kudos. In general, thank you guys so much for commenting and leaving kudos like you have. It’s honestly been fantastic, so thanks. Otherwise, I hope everyone has a great weekend and thanks for reading the story!
Fact of the chapter: There’s an actual link between cows sitting and the chances of it raining within the next hour. Apparently, some scientists proved the old saying was kind of correct. Cows will stand if its hot or humid, but will often kneel or sit when its cold. So, in a very loose sense, cows do sit when its about to rain, but because of the temperature change.
Chapter 16: Epilogue
Chapter Text
The Sanctum Santorum was quiet, not that such a fact alone was unique. During the near entirety of the Avengers residing within the mystical abode, it was rare for any sound to be heard. It was a still, tense silence that only added to the unease of each of the occupants. Even Strange, who had lived within its walls for years, had been uneased by such a silence but had grown to simply accept it. The current quietness was not felt that way, however. For the first time since entering the Sanctum, it was peaceful. The air felt less bitter, the walls brighter, and it was almost relaxing to stand within ancient building.
That was what Steve felt as he slowly walked next to Strange, the pair passing through the main corridor of the antique house. Steve felt tired, very tired. His muscles ached and pulled at his very bones in such a way that he had not felt since freezing. It was almost exciting how much that they burned and how lethargic the soldier felt as he moved. He no longer felt restless, just exhausted. As terrible as Varnae was, he did succeed in removing any cobwebs from Steve’s stagnate body. He was not the only one moving differently, either. Whilst still hunched and with downcast, dark eyes, Strange’s face was not cast in misery. If anything, he looked as if he was in mourning. He no longer hid within the Sanctum’s walls, often being found staring at the various artefacts or paintings with a contemplative, somewhat saddened expression. Warmth. There was still some warmth to his eyes. Not much, but enough for the man to look vulnerable as opposed to defeated altogether.
“What will you do now?” Steve asked curiously.
Strange sighed deeply, and reached into his faded blue robes. Within a moment, he pulled out a small origami swan that fluttered its wings like a real bird. Steve did not blink twice or shudder. Having survived Varnae, such small uses of magic no longer scared or bewildered him.
“I…sent these out to the remaining sanctuaries.” Strange’s feet stopped and he swallowed, “To see if anyone…survived. I’ve invited them to come here. We,” His face fell, and his cheeks hollowed, “We need to rebuild with numbers.”
Steve nodded knowingly, but grew careful as he asked his next question delicately.
“And if no one is left except but you?”
Strange’s eyes weakened and they dropped to the floor. The magical messenger lost its ability to flap its paper wings, and it was soon stuffed back into Strange’s robes.
“That’s honestly the most likely scenario. I know the Sorcerer Supreme summoned everyone he could to fight Varnae. I searched afterwards. This is…one last attempt at someone. If I am the last, then…”
“You still rebuild.” Steve said firmly.
“Yeah.” Strange nodded weakly, “Yeah. One last sorcerer. Barely a master.” He muttered bitterly.
“Does this…Does this make you the Sorcerer Supreme? You’re the only one left.”
Strange’s eyes met Steve’s and they darkened into a steep scowl.
“I don’t deserve that title, not compared to those that once held it. The guardians, the titans, the…the greatest of my order. No,” Strange shook his head, “I’m not the Sorcerer Supreme. I don’t ever intend to be, honestly.”
Steve offered a sympathetic smile, understanding all too well. Time could heal a lot of wounds, but some were just too raw to ever truly mend. The large man lifted his hand and inclined his head.
“Either way, you still saved our lives. Thank you.”
Strange eyed the hand closely, weighing its worth. Against the vile, self-loathing feeling in his gut, the sorcerer gently took it, careful not to agitate his damaged hand.
“You’re always welcome here.” He added, sincerely.
“Let’s hope it’s just a social call next time.” Steve grinned, and even Strange smiled in a small manner.
A sudden force wrapped itself around Steve and squeezed tightly. The momentary reflex to rip it away was eased as soon as Steve noticed that it was the Cloak of Levitation giving its version of an embrace to the man. Steve chuckled awkwardly, not knowing what to do aside from politely patting the fabric. It seemed to be enough, as the cloak floated back and seemed to wave its collar at him several times as it hovered next to Strange. Strange wasn’t looking at the scene, however. His attention was drawn to something ease, and he alerted Steve to it by silently nodding behind him. The soldier turned, seeing a tall, dark man standing by the green furniture. Strange gave Steve one last look before he, along with the cloak, departed towards his personal room.
Steve felt his stomach cramp slightly as he came closer. The mission, while a success, was still completed. He arguably had no other practical reason why he should not be detained. Well, perhaps the fact that Thor or Strange might release him by force if needed, but Steve hoped that it would come to that. He had experienced enough fighting recently. There was no need to begin a greater feud with Fury except for one matter: he would not be a pet in an apartment anymore. Having actually saved thousands, possibly millions, since departing the ward, Steve was extremely reluctant to be so useless again. It was that determination that pushed away his unease and hardened his chest.
“You were right, and I was wrong.” Fury murmured quietly, slowly turning to face Steve.
The larger man blinked, but did not do much more than that. It was never a good habit to reveal one’s emotions to Fury, especially when you never quite knew the angle that he was playing at.
“You gave us the intel. Why don’t we call it even?”
“Call it even.” Fury chuckled, sitting down, “You know, between Thor and these damn vampires, I’ve had to organise several director meetings with S.H.I.E.L.D.s entire board about setting up a paranormal division. I hate those damn meetings, Rogers.” Fury crossed one leg over the other, “You did also manage to keep it contained and quiet, so…that also helps. So, thank you.”
It appeared genuine, but there was a subtle level of frustration within the words. It was unclear if it was aimed towards Steve, or perhaps the entire situation as a whole. Steve was willing to be an optimist and not press any buttons with the spymaster.
“You’re welcome. I take it Jackie won’t be mentioned in those meetings?”
“The opposite.” Fury held up a hand as Steve opened his mouth, “Just to make sure we’re aware that some of these things aren’t direct threats. Not yet, anyway. She’ll be fine.”
“Just followed.”
“You think any of you won’t?” Fury asked unapologetically, “The world’s different now. See, we used to have people. Then, we got mutants. Now, gods, vampires and wizards. Forgive S.H.I.E.L.D. for being careful.”
Steve said nothing. He knew that it would be extremely unlikely for any of them to get away from this situation without some form of tether to the agency. That didn’t mean that he didn’t resent such a fact. Fury stretched his arms out along the wooden frame of the cushioned seat, his eye digging into Steve’s mind. An outwardly pleasant expression coloured his face.
“You saved our asses. You did. And I know that if we even try to put you back in a secure living situation, you’d either break out yourself or have someone else break you out. Namely the Nordic god. Maybe Hank or Janet?” He shrugged lazily, “No point in wasting a good soldier and resource.”
Steve’s face remained as a calm and controlled as ever. Fury leaned forwards.
“It’s not working for the army, I’m telling you that now. It will be working for S.H.I.E.L.D., and mostly its covert sector. No registered operations, no file names. In and out.”
“Against the Russians?”
Fury snorted.
“We have more pressing issues than the U.S.S.R., so the military can have that one. Steve, I’m offering you the chance to get back into the field. Serve your country, and a lot of other countries. Even pull on the shield again.”
Steve thought the offer over closely. There was always a catch to these types of things, and Fury didn’t strike him as the typical employer.
“I won’t be on a leash, Fury.”
“In light of certain events, we’re willing to give you your space.” Fury’s smile shifted into a look of warning, “Just don’t go disappearing again.”
“You’re lucky I like Brooklyn.” Steve said evenly, and Fury’s dry smile returned.
“Well, aren’t we all? We’ll need to agree later on the finer details. Pay, for example. I don’t know if you noticed, but rent ain’t good in the city anymore.”
Steve nodded, allowing himself a small smile. Fury slowly rose to his feet, sighing and dusting off his leather jacket. His hand was soon offered to Steve, who took it without thinking.
“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. Just try not to make it too obvious that a dead man’s back. Though, given the amount of photos of you running around the Near East that we know exist, the damn cat’s probably out of the bag.”
Steve tilted his head. The stresses of dealing of Varnae, his mind had rarely drifted towards the fact that he had been in public several times during the fiasco. He hadn’t even checked the newspapers or the radio in weeks. For all he knew, a blurry photograph of his face or body, or even just his shield, was being plastered over the frontpages. Steve honestly didn’t know how to feel at such a possibility, at the idea of no longer being wrongfully mourned or considered dead.
“Any clear signs that people know that I’m still alive?”
Fury’s head shifted side to side as he hummed. The softness of the gesture did a poor job of hiding the irritation in his eye.
“Nothing for certain. We think China, Britain and Russia are asking themselves a lot of questions. Nothing more than that.”
That fact did not put Steve at unease.
“You know, sooner or later, people are going to notice I’m still alive.”
“I know.” Fury agreed, “Doesn’t mean it has to be today. Silence and knowledge are the tools of the trade, Captain America.” Fury stated as he walked past Steve, “Best learn them quickly.”
***
Strange pried his eyes away from the dusty mantlepiece to look at the wall closest to him. It was groaning. Someone, no doubt Fury and Steve, had left. Strange’s face hollowed slightly. There was a strange feeling of loneliness at the fact that, one by one, his companions were departing. As much as he loathed to admit it, there was comfort in their presence. The idea of being stuck alone in the Sanctum once more was not admired, and it was causing his chest to feel unusually full and tight. His sudden urge to clean was not helping, either. No matter the distraction, his mind always drifted back to the same thought: he would be stuck alone once more.
A bracelet on his left wrist suddenly vibrated, making him frown. He had thought that the woman now standing behind him would be the first to leave, all things considered. Had he been in her shoes, he certainly would have put as much distance between them that he could. It was still difficult to meet her eyes, so he pretended to be overly fixated by the painting of Mistress Rhaol. Unfortunately, it was one of the more lacklustre paintings of a seemingly unremarkable sorceress.
“You’re still here.” Strange managed.
There wasn’t an answer. Feeling the awkwardness strangle him, the sorcerer forced himself to turn. Jackie was standing stiffly by the door. Her eyes were sharp and intense, her body rigid as if movement caused great discomfort. Her hands were tightly wound, making Strange wonder if her nails could cut into her skin if they weren’t already. It took several moments before the tight jawed woman was able to say something.
“Yeah.”
Strange nodded, not knowing what else to say to the woman that had vampirism thrusted upon her by his actions. Perhaps, she was finally going to kill him now that he was relatively alone. Not even the Cloak was nearby, having floated off to attempt to clean some of the glass cabinets that it was once a part of. Strange swallowed, contemplating what was to happen in the following moments. His throat would no doubt be severed, and he felt his neck spasm slightly. It was a justifiable murder, and he could not force himself to protest against it. Death was temporary, what he did to her was eternal.
“Jackie, if-”
“You got Varnae off of me.” The statement was rough and clearly forced out of her lips.
Strange exhaled. The surprising nature of the comment threw him off guard, making him deeply uncomfortable and anxious. A twisted part of him would prefer if she just made it a quick and painless end for him.
“All things considered, it was the least I could do.” He answered slowly.
Jackie’s eyes tightened once more, as did her shaking hands. All Strange could feel as he watched was guilt. The girl took her turn to swallow. She had rehearsed the line enough times in her mind, yet that had apparently done nothing to ease the severe pain that such words caused.
“You’re an arrogant arse. You screwed over nearly everyone close to you.” Strange closed his eyes, his chest tightening even more, “I don’t think you’re a bad man.”
Jackie’s voice broke. As Strange opened his eyes, he saw a nearly sobbing girl shivering in the doorframe. Her eyes were struggling to focus as she did her best to not be overwhelmed by the dozens of emotions knocking themselves about in her chest. It made her sick and her throat very leathery. She needed to say it. Despite all signs and desires to simply walk away and be silent, Jackie knew herself well enough to know that she would regret it and resent herself if she didn’t make her point. She didn’t want to be an awful person. Varnae would not turn her into that, at least. She wouldn’t let him, even as she quivered before the sorcerer that ruined her life.
“I hate you. I honestly do. For…everything.” Her voice broke once more and her eyes narrowed as she reined herself in as much as possible, “But I forgive you. I…I can manage that.”
Strange’s chest became very still, so much so that he was barely breathing. The statement was one of the sharpest things that he had felt in a long time, and it stuck a part of them that made his body rigid. All thoughts seemed to fade away, causing a horrible silence to form in Strange’s being. The room was duller and fuzzy, with the only focus point being Jackie’s quivering body. Not knowing what else to do, his head began to slowly turn away as he spoke.
“Thank you.” He whispered.
Jackie didn’t respond. Her presence shot away within the following second. Strange, knowing that he was alone, clutched the edge of the mantlepiece. His whole body shook as the emotional toll of the last several months flooded his mind once more. A shaking hand cupped his eyes as he sobbed loudly, feeling the emotional turmoil of months leaving him. It wasn’t everything, and it certainly wasn’t enough to cure his sadness. But it was something, and something more than he believed he deserved.
***
“Part of me still thinks I should’ve killed him.” Jackie admitted as she eyed the faraway outline of the Sanctum Santorum.
“That part of you is the beast that only wants to cause pain, not ease.” Thor advised grimly as he stood next to her.
The pair were on a tall rooftop overlooking most of the city. The sun was slowly bathing the water in orange and yellow at just the right angle to be a beautiful smudge of colours. Thor was unusually draped in human clothes that he had burrowed from Steve, the only person even near his size. The button up blue shirt and pale brown trousers were still comedically small on the Aesir, however. Had Jackie not been sniffing, she would have been chuckling at the sight.
“Probably.” She admitted, “I know it wasn’t his intention. Doesn’t make all this less painful.”
“That pain will ease in time. Just know what is true and what is emotion. Such wisdom will do you well, especially with those such as Dr. Stephen Strange.”
Jackie continued to stare at the Sanctum at a little more. She hadn’t been planning to make it so far. The fact that she was still alive was nothing short of a miracle. What to do beyond that day, beyond that hour, really, was still an uncomfortable debate going on inside of her. Sick of feeling such anxiety, the redhead opted to shift her focus away from herself.
“You sticking around?”
It took Thor a slightly moment to understand her meaning. The large man stroked his beard, pondering his options as well. Much like Jackie, he had not been expecting a victory. The pair were very similar in having many roads before them, each one as vague and obscure as the next.
“Perhaps. It is not a poor realm to visit.” Thor smiled before looking tired, “It would be a shame to bid farewell to such noble warriors so soon.”
“Then stay.” Jackie shrugged lamely.
Thor’s face became very blank, making Jackie just what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it was not a light topic.
“I do not know if I have a choice in that, little one.” He crossed his arms, staring out to the water beyond, “Even I must adhere to things.” He turned to look back at Jackie, “And you? Where does your next journey lead?”
Jackie felt her anxiety return, and her mouth became very dry. He didn’t need to ask such questions so soon, the idiot.
“Maybe going back to England. I don’t know. Can’t really say ‘hi’ to the family when they notice I don’t eat, need blood, have fangs, don’t age.” Her mood worsened as the fact of being stuck immortal as everything around her moved on struck her, “I’m just…here. No point in doing anything if you can’t move with it.”
Thor stroked his beard once more, reflecting on her words. Without warning a large hand patting her shoulder. Had she been a mere human, the girl would have no doubt flown off of the rooftop. The impact still stung, though.
“You’re still young. Heed the words from one long-lived man to another, being immortal means you have more years to live, not less. Do not shut yourself away hoping for a death that may never come. Your family are your family. Your sharpened teeth do not change that.” Thor’s face faltered slightly, “Having a family that holds you to their hearts is a jewel unlike any other. Do not mistake that, Jackie of England.”
Jackie’s face softened and she peered down slightly. England wasn’t that far away, and she did miss her family. She had missed them greatly ever since the whole ordeal had made her feel so alone. It was just the fact that she had slightly different dietary requirements that would somehow need to be resolved. Strange could always portal her some blood, she guessed. However, perhaps reaching out to Strange too soon was not the best option. Some wounds were still too raw for her to ignore them completely. There were more immediate problems, anyway. Her abandoned apartment, for one. On the pathetic chance that her belongings were still intact, perhaps it would be worth salvaging them and working out if she wanted to even stay in the country or return home. It was a simple task, but one far less stressful than planning her future beyond her apartment.
With the decision made, the vampire looked back at Thor.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Her words were honest, “I better go and see how my flat is. Take it easy, okay?”
Thor smiled and he patted her once more, much to her arm’s agony.
“We do not have easy lives, just interesting ones. I do hope we meet again soon.”
“Same.” Jackie nodded, doing her own attempt at forcefully shoving Thor’s arm.
It was a gesture that resolved in nothing other than Thor’s amusement and Jackie’s own deflation. The pair stepped apart, and Thor watched as Jackie’s body sped away into the city surrounding them. A city that Thor stared at once more. It was a beautiful sight in the morning. During all of the chaos of his suicidal quest, Thor had rarely taken the time to actually look at the world around him. It’s bright colours, the strange structures that seemed determined to kiss the skies, the loud inhabitants, and the many other creatures residing in their forests and mountains. A quiet world, still unbothered by other worlds and beings. It all made Thor regret not actually embracing where he had been exiled, for there was much beauty to be found within it.
Much time passed as Thor pondered on the tall rooftop. The sun rose and rose, soon basking the entire land in a pleasant heat as the water evened out to a dull and dark blue. Thor had been so deep in his thoughts that he rarely took not of anything. Passing planes, the crowds moving beneath him, the wind wrapping around his long hair and beard. It was only the faint smell of holly and buckened, an Asgardian herb, that drew Thor’s attention back to the world around him. The smell made him frown, his chest suddenly feeling his heart pound fiercely in his chest. A mixture of hope and dread replaced his very blood as he turned.
A giant of a man, equal to Thor’s own height, stood in front of him. Much like Thor, he was thickly bearded with dark hair. Unlike Thor, his head was mostly shaved outside of a line at the top, revealing many blue tattoos that decorated the sides of his head. His nose was flatter, and he was leaner, but other than that, the man was nearly identical to Thor in terms of basic features. Even his eyes, a clouded blue, matched Thor’s, for they both belonged to their father. Tyr, the youngest of Odin’s sons, and the only blood member of the royal family that was younger than even Thor. His cloak was grey and torn in many places, showing the age worth of battles that the God of Victory and Justice had partaken in. Behind the fabric, his singular bare arm was visible, engraved and adorned with many blue markings as well. Upon his back rested the shattering Tyrfing, a large sword that no shield could defend against.
There was a bittersweet feeling to it being Tyr of all people that had arrived. Thor had never assumed that it would be Odin, for his investment in Thor had been all but spent. But it seemed that Baldur and Haldur had still not forgiven him. Thor honestly didn’t blame them, for his actions almost caused their deaths and the death of Asgard itself. Knowing that only one member of his family could even look at him was a crushing feeling for even Thor, the lord of thunder.
“You look well,” Tyr acknowledged, “Humans have done you well.”
“Their ale is acceptable, their food not so.”
Thor held his breath, watching his brother’s reaction. Much to his relief, the younger god chuckled softly. The tension between them soon dissolved and they stepped closer, pulling the other into a tight embrace. It was a long moment before Thor was willing to let his fellow Aesir go. When he did, Tyr held onto his shoulder and looked him over.
“I have missed you. Greatly. Asgard has not been the same.”
Tyr became confused as he saw Thor’s expression decline. The older of the gods stepped away, suddenly avoiding eye contact.
“No doubt safer.”
“Nothing is that simple, not with Asgard.” Tyr sighed, “The Allfather is…”
“Old?” Thor suggested, finally meeting Tyr’s eyes once more.
Tyr, always the diplomat, screened his words very carefully. His head tilted slightly as he settled on his explanation, and soon spoke with a cautious tone.
“Old.” He nods, “His actions cause some worry amongst our family. His ears are beginning to dim to our words. He does what he does, no concern for our council. He feels with a paranoid heart more than the wisdom of his journeys. Your exile, maybe justified, has only served his paranoia well. He…He has begun to fear that all of his sons and daughters are not loyal to Asgard.”
Thor eyed the skies carefully.
“You speak boldly.” Thor whispered.
“Odin is keeping mind of Midgard no more.” Thor turned to frown at Tyr’s words, “He has…He has reconsidered some old threats within Jotunheim and Vanaheim.” As Tyr continued, his face grew more and more strained and worn, “He welcomes you back to Asgard. You have completed your task. Your exile is over. He desires for you to be back at his side.”
“For war. He wants my hammer and hands, not his son.” Thor murmured, the words feeling sharp on his tongue and lips, “I am exiled for my ways, yet he wants them now that he grows old and his mind becomes frail?"
Tyr was silent. The look on his face, however, was clear enough. It was less that Thor was welcomed back out of love than paranoid necessity in his own father’s eye. Thor exhaled deeply, rubbing his wrist as he tried to process the hurtful realisation. His father still didn’t want him to return, not genuinely. His mission had not generated love, nor had the lesson that he had learnt rebuild any connections. What was more grave was the fact that Odin, the king of all Aesir, was being as erratic as his son had once been. For a god of wisdom, Odin still clung to his warrior nature. It was a nature often tempered by his restraint and experience, as Thor had seen when he had been exiled. Perhaps, Thor’s departure had damaged Odin’s heart and mind more than anyone could have guessed or was willing to admit.
“For him, maybe. Not for your brothers, Thor. We’ve missed you. Even the twins still hold you close to their hearts. It is time. The demon creature has been banished, successful defeated by your band of warriors. You’ve passed your test, so let us go home.”
“Home.” Thor repeated softly, his eyes briefly flickering back to the city around them.
His hands played amongst themselves as he thought deeply on a matter close to his heart. He was not a young god, and he had finally seen the horrors of rampant war could cause. He did not seek blood, not after seeing the bodies surrounding him. Even if his father could no longer see the follies in such a life, that did not mean Thor necessarily had to follow such a command. A soft exhale left Thor as he turned, smiling gently at his younger brother.
“I have missed you, Tyr.” His eyes weakened slightly, “My young brother. Old, like me.”
“Still young in our blood.” Tyr chuckled, and Thor’s eyes warmed, “You are not following.”
It wasn’t a question. Thor shook his head, taking several steps closer to his brother.
“If Odin’s mind has turned to other realms, then Midgard will need someone to watch their gates. Not all of the gods have abandoned them, not yet, dear Tyr. I shall remain here, at least for some time. It’s been…good for me to be here.”
Tyr scrutinised his brother closely, not quite believing his words. After some time, Tyr could only manage one question.
“Are you happy here, brother?”
“No.” Thor admitted, “But I am better.”
Tyr offered a reluctant smile and soon embraced his brother. Thor held onto him tightly, and they did not part easily. Soon, Tyr pulled himself away and began to walk backwards.
“I will tell father of your decision. He will no doubt have consequences for it.”
“I know.” Thor nodded gravely, “But I live by my choices, and Midgard needs me here.”
Tyr smiled and he continued walking backwards. Soon, a chuckle left him as he bared a toothy grin.
“I do pity any foe so foolish enough to threaten Midgard.”
“As do I.” Thor grinned, “I shall be here, if the golden walls of Asgard are ever under threat.”
“That day may come sooner than we dread.” Tyr warned, “Be safe, brother. Now that at least I have my eyes turned to you.”
Thor watched as a torrent of fire shot from the sky. Dozens of brilliantly coloured flames encased the Aesir, hiding his body from view. As the flames hissed and shot back into the air, Tyr’s body was gone. The remaining god exhaled deeply, feeling an incredible weight now off of his chest. His task was done, his debt paid. He had spent many months dreaming of returning home, but now no longer felt desperate for it. He could return when needed, and the existence that such a choice brought him much peace. His family would still be in Asgard, even with signs of concern growing there. Midgard had more threats than Thor realised and, for the first time in much time, he felt content in his place. Perhaps it would be worth exploring the world further now that he was to stay for a bit longer.
***
“I’m just saying I handled myself better.” Peter rolled his eyes as he strolled down the busy street.
“Yeah, because the multiple bandages prove that.” Jennifer countered, nodding to him.
Strange was a very talented doctor, both with conventional and magical medicine. Yet, even he had his limits when it came to the amount of broken bones, torn muscles, cuts, and other wounds that Peter had gained trying to survive against Varnae. His arms were covered in bandages, and his forehead was still shiny from the strong-smelling ointment that Strange had rubbed into him in an attempt to prevent further concussion. Even Jen and her healing capabilities were worn down, evident in the first bruises that she had gained in years appearing on her ribs. The result was the pair walking rather gingerly, much to the joy of the lazy pug walking beside them. Swung around Peter’s shoulder was a small backpack full of the clothing and other supplies that he had brought with him to the Sanctum. Jennifer was slightly more covered, having a large back around one of her shoulders and a suitcase rolling behind them.
“War wounds. I took out more than you.” Peter hastily added.
“I punched Varnae square in the head, like, three times.” Jen countered, “I vaguely remember you being thrown into a wall.”
“Which time?” Peter asked, making Jennifer and he laugh, “Yeah, probably the worst fight I’ve ever had.” He admitted with a darker tone, “Still survived, though.”
“That we did.” Jen agreed.
The fact that they had and were able to walk down a busy street as if nothing had ever happened was disorientating for the woman. Each person they passed was chatting or otherwise going about their days, not having a single worry about the vampires that almost took their freewill. Ignorance was a confronting thing to witness in such a place, especially after almost dying to a monster like Varnae.
The pair idly chatted as they walked down the city. It soon became apparent that they possessed little to no remaining energy, as their words became mumbles and many of their sentences simply drifted off into silence. Neither bothered to elaborated or ask further details on the sentences that seemingly lacked points to them. Eventually, Peter noticed a familiar looking sign pointing downwards, gesturing towards the subway station. A warm, yet tired, smile slowly crept on his face at the sense of familiarity. He came to a halt, turning to Jennifer as she guessed the relevance of the station.
“Try to take it easy for a while. Rest up.” Smiled Jennifer in a gentle way.
“Please. I’m fine.” Peter snorted.
“Well, maybe at least try and wait until the bruises heal before going back to school.” Jen raised an amused eyebrow.
“Ah, crap. Probably right. Fine. A little one.” Peter grimaced, “But not too long. This fang-grower stuff might’ve made Shocker and stuff forget I exist.”
“Ah.” Jennifer nodded mockingly, “You need to reassert your dominance.”
“Exactly, exactly. People’s memories are horrible.” A mischievous grin suddenly cut through his otherwise tired face, “Besides, we need more team ups.”
“Pete.” Jennifer warned.
“What? There’s always villains that a simple guy like me can’t handle, or a tall, giant, green woman like you. New York is a lot smaller than people think. You never know when you’ll need your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man next.” He teased.
Jennifer gritted her teeth. Her temptation to verbally berate him and remind him about certain previous agreements faded as he began to look back at the station.
“Anyway, I better go. Catch you next time?”
Jennifer allowed herself to at least shake his hand. He was stubborn, but still harmless. It was also a deep shame for everyone to part. It was a very different experience working with others, and one that Jennifer honestly didn’t dislike. The sound of annoyed pug noises caused Peter to laugh before kneeling down to Maxxie. The pug seemed to forgive the disrespect as soon as her ears were being massaged. A moment later, Peter stood up again. An awkward, yet happy, smile was on his face as he looked at his beautiful teammate.
“Be safe, Pete.” Jennifer’s words were quiet and sincere.
A faint blush overcame the teenager, and he hastily began to walk backwards towards the subway station. Jennifer was about to turn to leave as well before a voice cut through the air.
“I’ll catch you soon!”
Jennifer sighed, shaking her head. With her position paused, she turned around to look back at Peter.
“You won’t!” Jennifer called out.
“Doubt it!” He shouted, his back to her as he sprinted towards the station.
“Teenagers.” Jennifer rolled her eyes, biting back the small smile that was forming, “So,” She looked down towards Maxxie, “Shall we see if my extended vacation has gotten me fired?”
***
“On the positive side of life, the company’s still alive.” Janet noted as she stared at several spreadsheets on her desk.
Hank sighed from his place next to her. The pair were much like Peter, bandaged many times around. Unfortunately, unlike Peter, neither had healing capabilities that complimented Strange’s medical techniques. It would be a long few weeks of muscles aches and cramps as their bodies pieced themselves together once more. It all made the married couple regret deciding to immediately check in on Pym Technologies as soon as they left the Sanctum. At the time, it seemed mature and wise to check the small company that was left unchecked for several weeks. Yet, as they both clung to the odd elixir that Strange gave them for their pain, it already seemed like a considerable mistake.
“Well, that’s good.” Hank groaned in agreement as he closed his eyes and leaned back on the cushioned leather chair, “Least Stark didn’t have his company try to buy us out.”
“Multiple victories lately.” Janet hummed, still dragging her finger down column by column of numbers, "We should probably pay the textile team out of our own bank accounts to be safe. We don’t want embezzlement claims.”
“Hmm?”
Janet looked up with a judgement gaze.
“Hank, Pete is going to be swinging around using a suit that they made. How long until the Daily Bugle has it shoved on the front page?”
“Hmm.”
“Exactly. And then there’s mine and Jen’s. I’m sure…a little bonus won’t hurt anyone.”
“Add two more suits to that list.” Janet silently raised an eyebrow at the exhausted man, “My old suit doesn’t even fit you, and the old, old suit that I had to wear looks ridiculous. We need a redesign.”
That was enough for Janet to leave her attraction to the spreadsheets. Sitting up straight and interlacing her fingers as her hands rested on the table, she looked more like a lawyer or politician than a scientist. As she spoke, her eyebrow remained still and raised.
“I take that you assume we will be doing this in the future?”
Hank gave a tired, hollow laugh that sounded more like stressed breathing than anything else. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, not having the energy to do much else.
“We survived. Handled ourselves better than expected. Had some…issues along the way.” Hank’s face suddenly darkened.
“You also got your butt whipped by an ape, love.”
Hank snorted, his mood easing a little.
“Lasted longer than you.”
“I had less broken bones.”
“Because I fought more.”
“No, you fought worse. Which one of us again does self-defence classes?”
“Pfft.” Hank rolled his eyes before lowering his head to look at his wife, “I mean…We did develop the Pym Particle. It’d…be a shame…”
There was a mildly unsteady atmosphere in the room as the pair gauged each other’s attitudes on the matter. Even in his groggy state, Hank was still watching his wife closely.
“Pointless, even.” Janet nodded, her tone dull, “Unprofessional.”
“Exactly. No point in discovering something if you won’t use it.”
A slight smirk overcame Janet and Hank felt his stomach seize. He hated that look.
“You’re going to need to start taking classes with me.”
Hank tilted his head, doing his best to filter the many responsive comments tapping his tongue.
“Ah, I could. But, given how we might be facing people more intimidating than a forty-three-year-old woman,” Janet’s eyes narrowed at the insult directed at her instructor, “we should probably find something more…practical. I don’t know. Just a thought.” He shrugged lamely.
Janet rolled her eyes, rising to her feet and closing the accounts log. After some shuffling of binders and books around, the short woman soon made her way to where her husband was sitting. A pained growl left him as she sat in his lap, but she did not move or acknowledge the mild glare she was receiving.
“I’ll let you figure that out, then. I don’t think Steve is willing to become your personal trainer.” Janet tattered.
“You never knew. We did get him back his shield.” Wheezed Hank, “We’ll be fine. Just…need to actually be prepared if we do this.”
Janet nodded as her small hand carefully held Hank’s. Being as careful as she could, the small woman shuffled her way until she was resting against Hank’s chest, his chin resting on top of her head. The tired pair rested for a while, content to just be holding one another. In all of the madness of Varnae, moments such as simply holding one another were impossible and deeply missed, especially by Hank. Such thoughts made him absently pull her closer.
“You sure you wanna do this?” Hank asked her hesitantly.
Janet did her best to think it through responsibly, but she was honestly just too tired. It didn’t help that her husband was extremely comfy to rest on, especially with his arms secured around her.
“Ant-Man and the Wasp.” Janet whispered sleepily, “Who’s gonna be able to stop us?”
***
There was a perfect clearness to the water that many would be envious off. Even hundreds of metres below the surface, the crystals and glowing plants that clung to onyx and red walls lit everything up as if there was a festival. The stone walls spanned dozens of feet, towering above any that swam within the citadel tower. Each were patterned with coloured stones to form great images of warriors, gods, and kings. Rulers from ages nearly forgotten to history. The floors were adorned with a soft, orange grass that was welcoming to the touch. Within the centre of the vast room stood a mighty throne, one carved from a long extinct shark’s skull. A shark that the first king of the fallen kingdom of Atlantis killed. The throne was patterned with an orange and black fabric, a favourite hue of the culture. Surrounding the throne were many carved stone seats, positioned in a semi-circle. Many more were cut into the walls behind them, with hundreds of seats going up and up within the tower itself. Many were occupied with lean beings with dark blue skin and pitch black hair. Their faces were sharp and longer than a human’s, with dark eyes used to absorbing the rare light offered in the deep seafloor.
Beyond the tower itself rested many lines of streets cut into the seabed. Harsh stones and thick rock had been smoothened and made to shine as they formed squared houses. Much like the tower, thousands of glowing plants and rocks lit up the city streets, making a purple grid glow brightly for any onlooker. Aside from the glowing lights, there was not much sign of life within the city streets itself. The night was too old, and many had turned to sleeping away the remaining hours until the warmer waters rose. It was quiet, and very still, with even the water only offering a very gentle current.
Before the entrance of the beautifully decorated citadel tower were many guards. Each of their armour was unique, baring resemblances to different sea creatures to reflect the family lines that they belonged to. All were glorious to behold. Few could muster the respect and title needed to get their attention, yet they all moved and lowered their heads as someone swam passed them. Namor kept his head high as his heart raced. As much as he attempted to smother his anxiety with his smugness, the sight of the tall creature on the throne shattered any confidence, just as it always had. There was no memory that Namor could offer when he was within his father’s graces, no warmth from a hug, no smiles from a compliment. King Leonid of Atlantis, Ruler of the Seven Seas. He was a large man, with muscles more suited to combat on the land compared to the lithe swimmers of his species. His hair was a thick mane that flowed around his shoulders. His face was sharp as well, nearly resembling a horse’s. It was a face that looked down upon his son as the younger, far paler humanoid approached.
“My dear court,” Namor cried, placing his sceptre into the sand, “The monstrosity has been dealt with. It resides within C’Lu Tower as we speak. Imprisoned for his crimes and role in breeding the foul species of vampire yet again.”
The court broke into whispers. Many were disbelieving, but the word had already spread enough in recent days that some knew it to be true. Namor, the impish prince, of all people was the one to defeat the ancient creation. That alone was enough to spark many debates behind closed doors. Others remained entirely silent, their eyes focussing on their king. Leonid was silent, and Namor did his best to resist the urge of clenching his jaw. Visible signs of agitation would service no one. Soon, Leonid looked confused, as if missing something.
“Is this…Is this what you summoned us here for, Prince Namor? You have your back patted for fulfilling your duty?”
Namor chest seized. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was hardly the first time that he had received such a public dismissal. Still, a part of him had honestly hoped for better. He had aided his father’s issue of how to deal with Varnae. He had fought the beast and won, whereas his father had done nothing out of concern of losing the battle and the resulting disrespect of the people. It was his loyal son that had come to his aid.
“I dare not ask for a pat on the back.” Namor replied, his voice cool, “I merely wanted to inform the court that the situation has been resolved by their prince.”
Leonid’s eyes shot in many directions as the court became to whisper amongst themselves. The king straightened himself, lazily gesturing to Namor with a hand.
“Their prince? Was it…Namor that vanquished Varnae? Hmm?” His voice grew to a boom, “Or was it the humans and the Aesir? My sources tell me that you only arrived at the end, when the battle had been fought.” A tight smile formed on the king’s face, “A short effort, my dear son.”
The court broke into chatter once more, this time with some chuckling lining the conversations. Namor swam towards his father, his stony expression finally cracking to reveal severe frustration at the matter. Leonid only leaned back, looking only mildly interested in his son’s approaching presence.
“I did so under your orders.” Namor whispered, “I was not the one that denied Varnae’s return to the kingdom. I was not the one that hid. I was-”
“Be aware of to whom you speak!” Leonid hissed quietly, rising to his feet so that his nose almost touched Namor’s, “While you were swimming in lakes and playing with whales, I was trying to control the panic of our people, something you have no concept of. You did your duty and followed my commands. You did as your king told you, and you would be wise to remember that.”
Namor’s rising anger dulled his reason, as it often did. Before he could muster the mental effort to filter himself, he leaned downwards so that he was closer to his father once more.
“And you’d be wise to remember which one of us actually got involved.”
Leonid’s cheeks hollowed. Much like Namor, Leonid had a certain flair for having his patience and control snapped when directly insulted, even if it was his own son. The pair waited to see if the other would strike. The court had gone quiet, having become used to such displays. The more animalistic of the court secretly hoped for another clash. Whilst Leonid always won, it was still an amusement to see Namor try. The king suddenly sighed, seemingly grown bored of the puffing of chests and sharpening of tones. Much to Namor’s insult, Leonid even waved Namor’s issue away.
“I hear that a peculiar gem of endless blue was found. A crystal. I trust that it is already within the vaults?”
Namor bit back another insult and simply nodded. Leonid’s fingers danced along the armrests of his throne as a result. His mind became deep in thought. The mention of the gem craved his face into a more worn, unnerved expression that soon faded as soon as Leonid realised how closely his son was examining him.
“Good. I will I see to it after this…important meeting has come to a close. It must never see light again, not with what it is capable of.”
“Agreed.” Namor replied nonchalantly.
“Good.” Leonid nodded, his voice raising once more so that the rest of the court could hear, “Now, is there anything else that the prince desires our attention for?”
“None.” Grunted Namor, “Just ensure it is done.”
Leonid’s smugness shifted into mild irritation as Namor’s tone rang within his head. As the prince turned to swim away, his father’s eyes tightened into an unpleasant scowl.
“You question your king’s ability?”
A pained sigh left Namor, for the prince was already imagining the comfort and solitude of his own quarters. One without his father nearby.
“I have the wisdom not to.” Namor’s tone became diplomatic as he continued swimming towards the exit.
“Hmm. Beware of your attitude, Prince Namor. It will not serve you well. Your mother understood that well.”
Something flickered in Namor’s chest. For the briefest of moments, the prince imagined himself impaling his own father with the sceptre now in his hand. A sweet, very violent feeling tightened his muscles and made his chest feel very hot. He could be quick. His father was slowing down with age. Yet, as soon as the rage formed, the murderous intent faded. Namor would be arrested, and his claim to the throne dismissed. As such, he very reluctantly withdrew his sceptre from the sand and paddled himself towards the entrance. The guards separated, allowing the man to pass through the many squared columns that held the tower so tall. There were dozens of them, many times wider than a human being. Many were carved to appeared as if they were seaweed, waving in the water’s currents.
It was due to such a design that it was relatively easy for people to hide themselves within the columns, to avoid notice. Namor, having played within the tower since he was a mere child, knew exactly the best spots to hide one’s self from prying adults or angry parents. It was due to that fact that he knew to turn immediately to the left as soon as he passed the fifth set of columns, seeing a lithe woman with dark hair quietly floating. Her darkened eyes widened in surprise at Namor’s attention, only to frown deeply in annoyance. The slightly younger woman, by a matter of days, was exceptionally similar to Namor compared to all other Atlanteans. Much like he, the woman was a half-breed, hailing from a human mother. Her skin was as pale and harsh as Namor’s and her face was round and soft, much like a human’s. Her eyes were completely unhuman, however, as they were dark and deep. Her feet and fingers, too, were slightly longer than that of an ordinary human’s, more akin to swimming as opposed to running.
“You should not be here, little cousin.” Namor chastised softly, his voice tired and quiet, “The King is in one of his moods.”
The slightly shorter Atlantean scrunched her nose, but did not leave. In fact, she only pushed herself slowly towards Namor so that they were in front of each other.
“I heard that you had some amazing proclamation. I wanted to hear it.”
Namor scoffed, and the woman frowned as she saw how angry he seemed to be.
“I had no proclamation, Aquaria, only news that the ape had been dealt with. He is in C’Lu.”
Aquaria smiled brightly, and inclined her head.
“Then the news was true. Congratulations. You must feel...elated.” Aquaria beamed.
Her cousin only grunted, preceding to kick himself off of the pavement and slowly begin to swim. Aquaria was at his side within moments.
“He mentioned her.” Aquaria surmised.
“A petty remark, but nothing I can’t handle. He’s just an old fool.” Namor muttered as they began to float above the many lights below.
“Of course.” Aquaria agreed, “For you are Namor, Prince of Atlantis. It doesn’t matter who your mother was, or what species she belonged to. Your father should know that. Many of the people do.”
Namor chuckled darkly.
“I court looks at me as if I am some foul, sick creature that swam in from a storm. That have no respect for my royal blood. It’s too diluted.”
Namor suddenly halted as his cousin hastily swam in front of him.
“And? What would the court know? None of them should be concerned with blood when half of them are inbred.” Namor managed a tight smile, “The people care, Namor. You have always respected that you offered them a voice.”
“The people are not the ones I must deal with.”
“By your own choice.” Aquaria scoffed, “You care so much about the court’s opinion, despite having much more appeal within the actual city itself. You’re a stubborn idiot.”
Namor sighed and gritted his teeth. Before Aquaria could continue, he had shot past her, determined to escape the ever-lecturing relative. Unfortunately, Aquaria was just as capable at swimming as he. As he swam through the thick weeds below, it was clear that something was moving to his left.
“I want peace.” Namor grunted.
“I want you to stop being miserable.” Aquaria persisted, “You act arrogant and cocky all day, then drag yourself around in the evening.”
“The stresses of ruling do not affect you. Be grateful of that.”
“All I’m saying is that there are plenty of other things that make you happy, Namor. Other interests. Other causes. Maybe…stop trying to please the court so much. You didn’t listen to the King about Varn-”
The princess felt a strong hand on her arm. Namor’s eyes were wide and full of anger.
“How did you know about what father said?”
Aquaria ripped her arm away, looking condescendingly at Namor’s own hand.
“I hear things, and you’re very loud. The palace isn’t exactly Athens in size.”
“Aquaria, you cannot keep listening in on-”
“Namor, focus.” She chided, “You didn’t listen to Uncle, and you helped stop Varnae. You actually fixed a problem.”
“You make it sound like I rarely do.”
“You rarely do.” The girl admitted, making her cousin look both hurt and insulted, “But, you’re not allowed to. Maybe…Maybe, it’s time to think about that. You’ve always been stubborn and never listen to anyone. Why not be stubborn about this? Why not…do your own thing for a while? See how else you may help our people, even without the King’s direct orders to do so.”
Namor huffed, glowering.
“I am a prince, I have responsibilities. I can’t just go and…travel and do nothing.”
“I’m saying that you can help Atlantis in more ways than just begging for the court to like you. Think about it, please. We have other needs on the surface world that Uncle won’t address. Someone needs to.”
Aquaria inclined her head in respect before paddling out of the weeds. Namor stared at her disappearing form. An insecure glare formed. She was right. The stupid girl was always right. Namor was the one that had dealt with Varnae, and no one cared. No one ever would, either. His heritage saw to that. The idea of simply leaving Atlantis for a time made him feel guilty. He had obligations, and his father was an erratic king. Atlantis would benefit from Namor being a buffer, even if everyone loathed him. Still, he had greatly enjoyed his very brief time on the land. Such an activity had brought many new experiences with him, experiences that could aid the type of king he would need to be.
Soon, Namor found himself absently swimming off of the sand and towards the outer city once more. Perhaps, he would be a benefit if he were a more seasoned and experienced king. His father and uncle had their journeys above, which was how Namor and his cousin had come to be. A foul mood returned, only eased as Namor returned to thinking of his time above the sea. If he ventured on land, perhaps he would find the beautiful jade woman with such a perfect rear.
***
The abandoned community theatre was filthy. The seats were torn and rotten from decades of neglect, and the painted walls were peeling and stained with many breeds of mould. The stench was horrid, let alone for a collection of hundreds of gathered vampires with heightened senses. None minded, however. Their attention was preoccupied by why they had been summoned. Many of Varnae’s ilk were standing in small groups, huddled together with those that they had grown to somewhat trust, at least more than the others. Some sat in the seats, others impatiently prowled the aisles. Few words were spoken at any rate within the evening air.
It was near one in the morning when the air seemed to change. It grew thicker with the scent of many newcomers. The bulk of the vampires either turned towards the unhinged door or rose from their seats to adopted an uncomfortable and agitated stance. None looked overly happy. Several individuals of varying ages and races slowly swayed or marched through the door, flanked by many large and rather intimidating vampires. Some of the leaders looked rather smug or happy to be seeing so many of their younger brethren answering their summons, others looked utterly unimpressed or insulted. As the group came to a halt by the entrance, nine individuals stepped out from their guards. Compared to the sheer number of the vampires already in the theatre, the small mass looked like a tiny pack against an entire school of fish. The nine stayed silent as they appeared to be counting something, their eyes scanning each of the vampires before them rather closely.
“This is less than half of our estimates.” Falsworth muttered, “Arrogant fools are no doubt running chaos in the streets.”
“John.” Adenia warned lightly.
“Everything we’ve fucked built in secrecy will be pissed away.” He added, looking filthy.
It was true. After the arrest of Varnae and the complete collapse of the strange new order of vampires that he had built, the original children had enough wisdom for damage control. As soon as they had confirmed that their father had been taken by some hidden force, the nine had been quick to send a message to each and every group of Varnae’s newer creations. Order had to be maintained, after all.
“Welcome.” Lucas Brand started, his voice diplomatic and polite, “Thank you all for coming. Now, you are no doubt feeling a range of emotions since Varnae’s defeat. Betrayal, fear, anxiety. I would, too.” Brand nodded, “You had such very strong leadership and power within Varnae. Now that he’s gone, you need…”
“A new direction.” Jia finished, her chin lifted as always, “One where the order and structure of Varnae can remain, and you can go about your life in relative peace and ease.”
“Given that certain conditions and obligations are met.” Marcus continue, stepping forwards and beginning to pace, “We offer the opportunity to join our families, our own little empires. You will have all the prey that you want, but also opportunities. Skill development, training, integrity.”
Deacon looked to Brand to roll his eyes. It was clear that their Roman counterpart had once more been attending college seminars of team motivation. What started a joke on Marcus’ side had turned into a near obsession in recent years, which was no doubt why his clan were always dressed like accountants or businessmen, even when hunting.
“To be blunt,” Jia sighed, “You work for us, we protect you, you get somewhere to stay, resources to use, and an actual life to live that isn’t on the streets.”
The many vampires in front of them turned and broke into small whispers. Many were unconvinced. Deacon sighed, dramatically looking at his watch before putting his hands on his hips and staring at the younger vampires. Finally, one found the courage to speak. It was a tall dark man that was easily twice the size of the lean Deacon.
“And if we were to go out on our own? I mean, we’re the same type of vampire, right? Straight from the source. We’re just like you.”
“Just like us.” Deacon laughed joyfully, “Oh, what a stupid sentence. No, my new friend. You’re anything but like us. While we share the same character, the line ends there. We are over two thousand years old. We have seen more civilisations collapse than you can actually name. We have ruled in complete secrecy for all of those two thousand years. We have beaten sorcerers, demons, mutants, gods. We’re still here.” Deacon suddenly broke into more laughter, “Let’s be frank, none of you know how to fight or survive. You’ve won off numbers alone so far, but…that didn’t really help with the super soldier, the Aesir, the boy, so on and so on.”
“You need experienced mentors.” Falsworth stated, “People who can help you survive quietly.”
“Because if you think we’re going to tolerate any of you threatening to oppose our kind, you’re mistaken. We’re remove the issue before it can become one.”
Many of the younger vampires tensed at … words. Several even eyed the guards, going their best to estimate their chances should a fight break out. While some looked highly worried, others looked smug.
“You’re slightly outnumbered.” She called out.
“And you’re significantly overpowered, out experienced, and pretty much every other criterion relevant to your faux threat.” Marcus grunted, his patience and formal attitude worn thin, “You can be like those that didn’t come, and try to stand against us. You might even manage to kill one or two of us right now. Not all. Strength is nothing without discipline and actual training.”
The theatre became quiet once more. Many weighed their options carefully. If there was one thing that Varnae spoke highly of, it was the ability and successes of his children. There was also the very evident differences in the way that the children of Varnae organised themselves compared Varnae’s newer creations. Varnae had been in a rush, with little time or consideration thrown into developing things such as housing or even simple resources such as clothing or passports for the young vampires to use. Such things had to be organised on his behalf by the finely dressed, well-spoken thralls of the older vampires. While their breed of vampire was weaker, they were far older and clearly experienced immortality for a time. Few were anxious to be near the High Vampires, with some even openly challenging them from time to time. If there was to be a struggle for power between the two groups, it wasn’t entirely clear on who would win. It would no doubt be a very prolonged, messy affair. That much was known amongst both parties.
Deacon, noticing the lack of open objections, grinned. Several vampires jumped as he clapped loudly and soon looked behind his shoulder.
“Ah, wonderful. Un, get the projector. Now, to be fair amongst us, we decided to split you up nine ways. Has anyone ever been to Near East? It’s such a lovely part of the world.”
***
Peter found himself walking through his apartment hallway far faster than usual. Seeing the familiar sites that he had not seen since being attacked all those weeks ago brought a bright step to his heel. His attention was fixated on his front door, so much so that he barely registered Mr. Madley sitting on his bucket and shouting something about a radiator problem. Peter managed an absent wave as he unlocked the door and slid himself in. The small apartment was untouched. The damages caused to his door fighting a vampire had clearly been fixed by Strange. The cheap television was still in place, as was the second-hand set of furniture. Home.
Such a thought made the teen hastily look around as much as it made a smile, his eyes scanning for something in particular as a nervous beat controlled his heart. The sight of a short, slightly greying woman reading by the small coffee table brought a sharp and eager smile to his face. His aunt, hearing what sounded like an elephant barging into her house, looked up. She offered her own smile, albeit not as manic as her nephew’s.
“Ah, I was starting to worry. School ended hours ago.” Her eyes drifted to Peter’s bandaged arms.
Her smile faded as she rose to her feet. Peter didn’t care. He couldn’t stop the edge of his lips from twitching into a smile as he saw her. The weeks of stress, anxiety and utter terror seemed completely foreign now, a very distant feeling. She was in front of him. His last remaining family was alive and well, and just in front of him. That alone made it difficult for Peter’s throat not to ache.
“Pete, what happened? Are you ok-”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter shrugged nonchalantly, “Just stung them in chemistry. Will be…fine in a…few days. How are you? Feeling…odd lately?” Peter asked as he carefully stepped closer.
“Shelley and I didn’t get up to too much trouble.” May huffed, “Lord, I go away for a few days, and you’re looking at me as if I’m ill. Now, stop changing the subject. What do you mean you ‘stung’ them? With what chemical?”
It hadn’t been days, but weeks. Whatever spell that Strange had put on her to ensure that she stayed with her friend had clearly done something to her sense of time. A guilty and very worried part of Peter questioned if her employer would tolerate such a length in departure. Peter could not remember if he had brought such a consideration up with Strange. He would not be able to forgive himself if he were the reason that his aunt was fired.
“Just…the frozen one?” Peter tried, only half thinking of an answer.
“The frozen one. Right. Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“What? Oh, nah. Seriously. It’ll just heal and stuff on its own.” Peter smiled before hastily adding, “How was work?”
Aunt May blinked twice before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. Rarely had seen gotten such focussed questions from the energetic boy.
“I had the day off, so I’ll be home late tomorrow. I’m not drunk, if that-”
“No, no! Just…for conversation reasons.” Peter nodded.
His aunt raised an eyebrow, making Peter’s face flush. Deciding not to dig himself a deeper grave, the teen pulled his backpack off of his shoulders. Without anything further, he suddenly hugged Aunt May tightly, smiling into her shoulder as her familiar lemon smell hit him. Aunt May hesitated at the sudden sign of affection, but decided not to complain. Moments like these were rare, so she would not stop it. She hugged him back just as tight.
“Good to have you back.”
“You started a kitchen fire, didn’t you?” Aunt May asked, once more highly suspicious.
“Only once.” Peter smiled as he walked backwards.
His aunt watched him depart towards his room, her look of interrogation shifting into a soft smile as she shook her head and sat back down to read once more. As soon as Peter closed his door, he dropped his backpack and collapsed onto his bed. The teen sighed, loving the feeling of his old bed. No more Varnae, no more magic. Just his old apartment, school, and his aunt. It felt…warm. With lazy effort, he kicked off his shoes and managed to role onto his back. For the first time in weeks, Peter felt genuinely safe, and his body released weeks of built up pressure. As the world around him darkened into a relaxed slumber, the sense of happiness at home warmed him greatly.
***
Steve’s back was tight as he walked down the mildly busy street. Most of stores were old, family owned venues where most of the customers were clearly community members. Steve only glanced at them briefly from behind his round sunglasses. With his hands in his pockets, he strolled through the chattering families bartering with odd smelling stalls and did his best not to look anyone in the eye. Even with his baseball cap and glasses, there was no telling how quickly someone close could recognise Steve. As such, his steps were fast but seemingly casual, as if he were simply an impatient walker. Thankfully, no one seemed to stare at him. That was no doubt due to the fact that the several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents around the street were trained enough that they didn’t need to stare at Steve to watch him. They simply knew where he was at all times.
The tall blonde stepped through a series of chimes as he entered a sweet-smelling shop. An old-fashioned bakery made Steve smile, for it brought back many memories of his childhood and the days of sneaking bread with his friend, Bucky. A short, elderly Asian woman slowly crept out from several shelves stacked with dough. A croaked smile with missing teeth formed.
“What are you looking for today?”
“Sourdough, but nothing too sweet. It hurts my uncle’s stomach.”
The elderly lady hummed softly as she crept forwards to the counter. Her finger pressed something under the table, her eyes peaking around Steve to stare at the street behind him. A sound click from below the counter could be heard, and she nodded at Steve. The soldier smiled tightly before stepping around the counter. Beyond the stakes of dough and the two far younger men working near a very large oven, was a small latch on the floor. Both men stopped what they were doing, their hands disappearing into their aprons as they stared at Steve.
“Nice selection,” Steve began, “Anything suited for the elderly?”
Both men slowly slide their arms back out. Steve felt his body relax as a result. Both men moved past Steve, reaching down to the latch and grunting as they pulled the very thick, sealed door open. Pitying them, Steve reached down as well and watched as the relief on the men’s faces as he easily rested the door on its side. Below was a ladder, a very old and rusted one at that. Steve sighed, turned and slowly crawled down into it. As soon as his head ducked before the latch, it was sealed after him. It made Steve’s apprehension return. It was a dark, damp tunnel made from stone and ruined pavement. Without a doubt, it had been made before even Steve’s birth. The man slowly crept his way through the day, only a single flickering light offering him some guidance. Thankfully, after a few moments of aimless walking, he saw the vague outlines of four others. He knew he wasn’t going insane as soon as he saw the guns being raised. Several dots rested on his chest.
“Sorry. They were out of sourdough. Do you have any tiger bread?”
All four guns were dropped. As Steve slowly stepped closer, a fenced gate came into view. One of the guards hastily unlocked it and swung it open for the now resurrected war hero. Even as the best amongst their agency, few of the guards held their surprise well hidden as Captain American passed them. One even stared long after Steve disappeared into the dark.
Step by step, Steve made his way into the damp abyss that was the meeting room. It was lit up by several flickering, dusty lights that looked as old as Steve himself. It was a large, squared room, with a single round desk in the centre. Towards the nearest wall were several maps of the world, supported on boards with wheels on them. Most of the seats were already taken. Steve only recognised one of them, Rumlow. The brick of a man simply nodded from his otherwise statuesque position. There was a short blonde woman, a slightly taller blonde woman, several dark-haired men with various scars on their faces, and a dark-haired woman with a scared lip. Each of the individuals wore casual clothing and, outside of their scarred appearances, shared no clear signs of having anything in common. The dark-haired woman eyed the soldier closely, focusing on just how large the man actually was compared to even their finest recruits. Steve truly was a testament to the long-lost serum.
“Enjoy the welcoming committee?” She asked with a sharp, sarcastic tone.
“I always love when guns are pointed at me. Takes me back to France.” Steve managed as he sat between Rumlow and the short blonde.
“Get used to it,” Rumlow grunted, “Standard procedure with this place.”
“If we could focus,” The tall, blonde lady cut in, “Welcome, Mr. Rogers. We’ve been briefed on your…recent activities.”
Rumlow scoffed, but stopped as soon as he saw Steve staring at him blankly. The agent titled his head apologetically, but the smug smile never faded. Steve was not aware that anyone would be briefed on the Varnae matter and, truth be told, he didn’t blame Rumlow for his reaction. Steve would no doubt have done the same, given the rather fantastical elements of the story. Spies didn’t need such distractions from their bleak work.
“Welcome back to the living.” A dark-haired man with a burn to his neck quipped, “Pretty sure I still have my Captain America movie collection.” He grinned, and Steve resisted the urge to flush at such a fact.
“Enough,” The blonde woman warned again, and she turned back to Steve, “Fury has advised us that you will be our latest recruit into the program. We have a rough idea of what your previous training was like, and I’ll tell you right now that it was nothing like what we will put you through.”
Her tone wasn’t pleasant or comforting. Steve guessed that having Captain America join a squad would no doubt be viewed as a novelty by most within the squad itself. Steve didn’t mind, however. He had already lived through people above him thinking far lesser of him during his life. In fact, his chest almost flared at such a familiar challenge. An almost masochistic part of him had deeply missed the struggles presented by active duty. It was almost nostalgic for him, and in a very strange way, the familiarity of such a struggle gave him comfort.
“I know. I’ll do what’s needed. I always have.” Steve answered firmly.
The blonde lady smiled. It was a tight, analytical one that had no joy in it whatsoever. Steve didn’t mind, though. He had dealt with worse drill sergeants. She wouldn’t love him over night, but he would make her respect him. He knew that for sure. The blonde inclined her head, as if suddenly honoured by Steve’s words.
“I know, as does Fury. Good. Good. I am Agent Tomaz. I’ll be your overseer for the foreseeable future as we assess if you’re ready or right to join the program. For now, however,” she strung out her hands somewhat dramatically, “welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s anti-terrorist and threat determent branch. Welcome to S.T.R.I.K.E.”
***
Running to her office would not be how one described Jennifer’s current manner. Comparing her to a bucking bull would be more appropriate. In her desire to get to work as early as possible to explain her extended vacation, Jennifer had barely put on her shoes and was having to adjust them even as she tried to run. Her hair was a mess, and many of the buttons to her blouse and suit’s jacket were mismatched. Things were also worsened as she had only woken with enough time for two slices of poorly made toast, leaving her stomach growling as she tried to walk like a human.
She was realistic. The odds of her remaining at her firm was minimal at best. Entry level positions at law firms were not exactly forgiving when people disappear for weeks at a time, even if one uses the ‘vacation to be able to focus’ card via a rushed phone call left on an answering machine. To make matters even more worrying, at no point had Jennifer’s boss called her back. When Jennifer had finally returned home to her small apartment, the only messages and letters were questions regarding late rent payments, as well as some brochures about new science fiction television shows that were due to air in the coming season. It wasn’t a direct sign that she had been fired, just that she clearly wasn’t high enough on the food chain to even warrant a response. For all Jennifer knew, her replacement was already at her desk, sitting in her uncomfortable seat and eating the chocolate nuts that Jennifer had hidden in her bottom drawer.
As Jennifer entered the building, she grew apprehensive. She was going to be fired. She had to sit down and talk to a person that was already finishing her paperwork. She would somehow need to form words to explain why she had taken such a needless and unexpected holiday during preparations to represent another client. There was no justification. Jennifer would just mumble or spasm as her insides tightened until they severed themselves painfully. Every ounce of social anxiety bit into her at once. So much so that as soon as she entered through the rusted and creaky doors, she immediately turned around and exited the building. It took three attempts for her to enter the building without leaving, and it was only possible in the end through marching without stopping. As she entered the dodgy elevator, her skin was clammy. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt as if she were about to turn green. Slow breathing eased some off the pressure off, but not a lot. The doors opened, her heart died.
With a clenched jaw, the brunette skidded forwards to where her desk was, or possibly used to be. Much to her genuine surprise, it had been left untouched. No coat was hung over her seat, not new set of folders covered her desk. Even her small set of Romulan Warbird models still rested by her drawers. It all made Jennifer even more anxious. They hadn’t found someone to replace her. Or, they had forgotten about her job or desk entirely. It was the smallest desk, and was thrusted at the back of the floor. Even the cleaning room was bigger than her area. Her area. Jennifer’s lip twitched.
“Oh, you’re back.”
Jennifer jumped, only to be terrified at her skin suddenly changing green. Much to her luck, she was still pinkish white. Samantha stood before her, coffee in one hand, a folder in the other. Her tone was mildly disappointed, but not overly hostile. Jennifer’s hands hid themselves within her satchel, her fingers playing with themselves to find any relief from the anxiety.
“How was Florida?”
“It was…nice. I’m so sorry. My aunt really nee-”
“Yeah, I’m glad she’s well.” Samantha replied nonchalantly, “Look, I need you to type up three weeks worth of notes, plus the most recent shit pile that we have to deal with in relation to Lincoln.”
The complete lack of utter care for Jennifer’s disappearance made Jennifer very still. The woman slowly pried her hands away and she slowly dropped her satchel onto her desk. She wasn’t about to poke the hornet’s nest. She had her job, which was far more of a success than she was expecting. But there was still a shock to be processed. It felt uncomfortable, and a suspicious part of Jennifer squinted. It was a matter that she would investigate later.
“Lincoln?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear from your aunt’s holiday…house…hospital…Whatever you were doing, Lincoln’s charge has been dropped. Same with about three other past clients, and about thirteen convicted murderers.”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. Before she could stop herself, her ramblings had begun.
“Thirteen? And…And they were convicted? Murder is…Are we talking first-degree? Manslaughter? I’ve nev-”
“Walters.” Samantha grunted, making the other woman blush, “Thank you. Some government agency that’s been looking into animal attacks apparently came across some evidence that applied to the aforementioned convicts. The state had no choice but to overturn it.”
Jennifer reigned in her response this time. It wasn’t a difficult guess to work out which agency it was. Jennifer did, however, question why they chose animal attacks of all things to explain the vampire killings. Though, most of the bodies were torn apart. Perhaps, they claimed the illegal bear smuggling theory was actually correct. Either way, it meant that innocent people had been freed and Jennifer couldn’t argue for more than that. A small smile formed on her face, one that was met with a stony expression.
“I wouldn’t be too happy.” She suddenly pointed to Emanual’s desk, where a large stack of handwritten notes was resting, “You can start with those, then move onto processing the state’s letter that we got informing us of the decision.”
Jennifer nodded stiffly, almost immediately running off towards the desk, “Oh, before I forgot.” Jennifer turned to see Samantha practically glaring at her, “You’ve used up your vacation days for this year. In fact, you were six days overdue. You’ll be staying late until the hours round up. I’ll be checking the cards at the end of the week.”
Jennifer’s jaw dropped at the betrayal. There it was. Nothing was entirely good in this world, after all. With heavy feet and the sudden feeling of enslavement until the new year, Jennifer made her way over to the state of untyped notes. It would take a day at least to finish them. Maxxie was going kill her for being home late so often. It also meant that she’d miss the ‘Six Million Dollar Man’ reruns that she was hoping to tape. Her nostrils flared as she began to carry some of the pile towards her own desk. She hadn’t even brought food, for the anxious woman had become invested in the expanding narrative about her firing. As she dumped the paper at her desk and sat down with a huff, there a strange thought that formed in her head. She actually was already beginning to miss punching vampires.
***
C’Lu was cold, and very damp. The dark, stone walls seemed to absorb any and all light from within. Perhaps, that was intended. There was no warmth, literal or otherwise, felt within the tower, a tower that reached deep into the ocean floor where no light could touch it. It was a unique building within the Atlantean society, for it housed criminals and enemies of the state that could not breathe or otherwise survive within the ocean. For that reason, air was magically circulated within the maze. Should an inmate break out of their cell, they would be met with wall after wall that looked identical. Even if they should reach the middle of the tower, they would only see endless stairs and passages that seemed to drop down into eternity. No normal creature or being could simply wander C’Lu with their sanity intact.
It was clearly a very old building, as well. Even within its seemingly endless darkness, architecture could be recognised. It was only a few features, but Varnae felt familiar with the odd archway here or the single corner there. It was one thing that actually offered the giant ape comfort as he rested within his small cell. The magical restraints on his wrists and ankles had not been removed, nor would they ever be. His greatest joy, the mystic arts, would be nothing more than a memory. Varnae was full of those already. Everything from the empire that he was so desperate to resurrect, to his children, to his exile, and the complete failure of his dream. It weighed so much on him that he rarely moved. There was no need to. No motivation for life thrived within the ape. If his children were alive, Varnae honestly doubted that they would be able to or willing to rescue him. Even if they could, Varnae didn’t want them to try. He couldn’t handle losing yet another of his creations to his foolishness, as he had with poor Hannibal. The still fresh memory of his son’s death made Varnae’s small eyes close.
Varnae stayed like that for many hours. Seated on a small cot, eyes closed, body motionless. There was nothing else that he could do, not for an eternity. This was his fate, and he deserved it for his failures. If he had only known that Atlantis had survived…It was a mistake that spun into so many other mistakes. He was so close, so much so that it actually hurt him to think on it. He saw it. He saw his vision unfolding before him. With an exhale, he arrived at a new thought. He had been too arrogant or short-sighted to see his results, his consequences. A more deserving fate would have been his death. At least then, his shame would have been accounted for. Several miserable, aimless ‘ooh’s let the giant creature, echoing off of the walls.
“Are you crying or screaming? Either way, it will not help.”
As soon as he heard such an ancient language, Varnae was on his feet. Several excited and uncertain ‘oooh’s left him as he slowly waddled towards the cell door. They were not barred, but were thickly made from squared stones. The centre was open, leaving a poor view of some other cells. Varnae rested by it, leaning his ear against the stone.
“You speak the old tongue?”
There was a pause, as if whoever was in the cell next to him wasn’t expecting an actual answer, let alone one in a very dead language. When the man spoke again, it was with a level of caution.
“I am older than this tower.” The man paused again, “And you?”
“As am I.”
Varnae felt his heart pound as countless possibilities of what and who the man was filled his mind. A survivor of the collapse. A spirit. A reconstruction or projection. A very early descendant of the original Atlanteans. For the first time since his capture, Varnae felt excitement.
“I am Varnae.”
“Varnae.” The man whispered thoughtfully, “I don’t recognise that name. Your house?”
Varnae lowered his head. Despite the urge to lie, eternity was a long time to keep one up, especially to someone sharing a wall.
“I do not have one.”
A dry chuckle met his response.
“Nor do I. An interesting meeting, is this not? Varnae. Hmm.”
“And you?”
“I barely remember my birth name.” The man spat in a gravelly voice, “I’ve been called many unpleasant things since then. Most call me ‘Orka’ now, though. A mockery of myself.”
“Orka.” Varnae repeated, trying to pick the meaning aside from the obvious whale reference, “It seems my…our culture’s sense of humour has not lost its cruelty. Tell me,” Varnae began, his voice almost resembling an innocent child’s, “what crimes of yours warranted such punishment as this?”
Orka let out a wispy laugh, but actually answered. And the two spoke. For many hours, the two ancient beings spoke. They spoke of their lives, their births, their hungers, their failures and successes. For the first time in countless centuries, someone actually knew what Varnae was describing and could add to his stories. For the first time in an era, Varnae actually learned new aspects of the old empire. Varnae sat and listened to each word eagerly and, for the first time since the whole ordeal had begun, he felt as if he were in welcomed company.
***
The human tavern was as loud and packed as it had been the first time that Thor had wandered in to it. Many men eyed the immense presence of the Aesir as he entered, still wearing the ill-fitting clothing from earlier. All looked away whenever they made eye-contact with the fierce looking god. With a mild scratch of the bearded chin, he dropped himself at the edge of the bar and rested his large hands on the wood. It was loud, it was lively, and full of arguing people that bore many scars and parts of their bodies coloured in ink. It was a place that reminded Thor greatly of home. Beneath his large beard, a relaxed smile formed as, for the first time in many months, he allowed himself to be at ease. No demons to slay, no exile to come to terms with. There was just Thor and a room full of drink. As the thought struck his mind, a familiar looking human walked towards him. His face was pale and there seemed to be a growing sweat on his forehead. It took Thor only a moment longer to remember that he was the man that tried to swindle Thor’s human currency away. A bright smile came over the god’s aged face.
“Ale, if I may request it.”
The human’s nervous smile tightened.
“Any brand?”
“The best that you have to offer.”
“Be careful that he doesn’t try to offer you ‘Fosters’ and call it a luxury.”
Despite not understanding the comment, a gentle chuckle left Thor as he turned his head to see a familiar blonde woman with a shaved side. Thor was mildly impressed. Even with such loud noise around him, few would be able to sneak up on him in such a way, especially a human. Barbara rested her own beer bottle next to the one that was soon placed in front of Thor. A playful smile decorated her face, and Thor soon found himself matching it. He reached into his pocket, placing the remainder of the human money that he had on the table. With a sigh, Barbara slid one note and two coins towards the barkeeper.
“Norway, huh?” Barbara shook her head slightly with a tighter smile, “What’s their currency called? I’ve never heard it.”
Thor placed the drink to his lips and finished almost two thirds of it in a single sip, and Barbara did her best not to look too surprised. The Aesir exhaled at the pleasant taste and turned to look back at his companion. Her face was too analytical for her own good, and Thor cynically guessed that she already knew the answer to her question. She was testing or baiting him, or both. A tiredness suddenly clung to him, and a deep noise came from his chest.
“I doubt you’d hold my words as true.” He admitted, “You are suspicious of me.”
“Just a tad.” Barbara grimaced mockingly and she took another sip, “Something about the complete lack of understanding money, the accent that isn’t Norwegian and I know that because I saw a travel show a few days ago, and the fact you’re easily the largest man I’ve ever seen. Even for a mutant, you’re damn big.” Barbara took one more sip, a very long one, “And then there’s the lightning and fighting with someone with Captain America’s shield in the alleyway a few weeks back. There’s that.”
Despite it all, Thor’s cheekier side could not help but smile as the evidence was laid out before him. The alleyway incident was not something easily explained, and it was clear that his belief that he and Steve Rogers had been alone was mistaken. Barbara noted Thor’s bemused smile, making her smug. In a moment unfitting of a god of his age, Thor decided to further the game a little more.
“How do you know that what you claim was not magic or an il-”
“Cut the crap.” Barbara grunted, rolling her eyes and making Thor chuckle.
Thor leaned forwards, his weary face pondering something closely. Barbara finished her beer, not knowing what else to do with the fuzzy feeling in her chest. She was right, and there had been something suspicious about the man. The fact that she was so close to an answer was beyond frustrating to the impatient woman. She hated mysteries, often dismissing the entire genre of entertainment as pointless. Thor finally discovered the best way to communicate his thoughts.
“I am…slightly older than you.”
“No shit, I’m in my forties.” Thor raised an eyebrow, “What, older than fifties? Because you look good for-”
“I’m nearing seventeen-hundred years of age.”
Barbara and Thor were silent. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, or even looked shocked for that matter. She remained perfectly still, like a lizard trying to hide from a bird. Thor sighed, and stroked his beard once more. Not enjoying her silence, Thor continued.
“I have been to Norway, I lived there for some time in my youth. I am Thor, a pri…An Aesir, from Asgard, the golden realm. I offer you no mockery in my words, but only truth. You saw me harnessing the might of the skies to fight with Steven Rogers.”
Barbara’s lip moved ever so slowly. Her head tilted slightly as she examined Thor, looking for the earliest possible sign for a lie. She was sadly too sober to blame this on alcohol-infused miscommunication. Thor only stared back at her with eyes that suddenly appeared very old compared to the rest of his body, even with the beard and worn face. There was such sincerity in Thor’s face that Barbara suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Without thinking, she asked the first thing on her mind.
“Captain America is still alive?”
“Why would he not be?” Thor frowned, “We were victorious in our battles against the demon.”
“Demon?”
Thor chuckled. He was quick to finish his drink and place the empty bottle next to Barbara’s. A saddened smile overcame him, and he hesitated slightly.
“It has…been a long time since I have shared tales over ale, especially here. I find you to be good company. Have another round with me and I shall regal my tale. All of it.”
Barbara, against her better judgement, let her curiosity snatch her. Despite hating mysteries, she was on to latch onto them in real life, despite her adamant attempts not to. She had been taken with her inquisitive nature ever since she saw him fighting with Captain America. While she was still sceptical of the Nordic god announcement, she chose to inquire on such matters after nodding.
“You really don’t know how little money in there, do you?” She sighed, placing a note next to the collection of change Thor had, "The next round is on me, but don’t fucking lie to me. I’ll call the cops.” She warned.
“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I will only speak the truth.” Thor smiled, “It is a long tale, one that begins with my home.”
****
Jackie tilted her head slightly, reconsidering where she was and why she was there. She could probably swim back to the United States, given she didn’t think that she needed to breathe. There was only the matter of sharks or possibly Namor trying to kill her. The young redhead trusted the showy arsehole as far as she could…Well, relatively little. Still, that had little to do with the fact that she was wanting in front of an old brick house with small windows and a dark, rusted fence out front. The roof was still missing tiles, and the pavement leading up to the door was chipped and cracked from numerous tools being dropped on it. All of those tiny details still irked Jackie. The owners could leave. They had certainly squirreled away enough money to afford somewhere nicer in retirement. Many such conversations had occurred, all of which ended with a stubborn refusal. Home was home, Jackie lamented.
A deep sigh left the girl, and once more she took a step forwards only to take a step back again. She couldn’t keep doing so, people in the quiet street were starting to notice. The only saving grace that she had was the fact that people actually recognised her. It had only been a few years, yet Jackie was still somewhat confused and surprised that old neighbours had actually bothered to remember what she looked like. It almost freaked her out to a small extent. As the third whispering couple passed her sensitive ears, Jackie bit her lip and pushed herself forwards. Her hand reached for door, but it hesitated. There were footsteps. Soon enough, the door opened without her, revealing a short man with bright red hair and a rather pronounced gut. The man also had a rather sharp nose, something else that Jackie could boost. His eyes were wide, for he was not expecting her home until at least Christmas. Such wide eyes shifted into concern as neither one said anything, with Jackie simply standing there without knowing what to say. Her ears twitched as a ringing voice struck through the house. Without much further waiting, a much taller woman with faded dark hair shuffled next to the man. Her irritation at her husband’s lack of reply soon disappeared amongst the confusion and then panic that replaced it.
“Jackie, what ya…You’re not meant ta be on break for another few months, right?” Her father started, “You been kicked out?”
Jackie managed a tight smile at the comment. She took a few small steps forwards, dragging her suitcase behind her.
“I, uh, just missed you.” She admitted, doing her best not to cry.
Her mother, without needing to interpret further silent signals, hastily wrapped the quivering girl into a tight hug. Doing her absolute best not to crush her mother’s bones, Jackie held onto her mother. A slightly more awkward second set of arms wrapped around Jackie as well. A breath that she had been holding for as long as she had been a vampire was exhaled, almost completely removing any chance for the girl to hold back tears. Varnae, the Avengers, the loneliness, the bitterness. Being held in their arms made none of that matter anymore. She didn’t worry or fret about the future and what could happen. She didn’t even consider on whether or not to tell her parents about her new curse, as she still hadn’t come to a conclusion. None of it mattered because they were holding her, because she was home.
“It’s been a long month.” The girl whispered into a shoulder, “I missed you.”
***
Tony stuck another wad of gum in his mouth. His chews were loud, almost violent as he stared at the door in front of him with wide, manic eyes. His cheeks were flushed. He didn’t want to be there. The nails digging into his palms were proof of that. It was just an old, barely operational community hall, almost off of the map. Well, that was the plan. Fewer cameras and loud people that way. Still, that only blunted the sting, it didn’t remove it. Shame felt thick on him, and there was a level of embarrassment at even being in the community centre. He almost left, only to remember the hazy moments of vomiting in the Sanctum, the foggy arguments, and the distrust in people’s eyes. What cut even deeper, though, was the feeling of being worthless and counterproductive to a team that was trying to save the world. As such a memory struck him, an even worse shame overcame him. It was a tight, encasing feeling that wrung around his neck so much so that it was almost disorientating. Tony grimaced sharply, needing to close his eyes and regather himself. He had held off Varnae, earning his own share of scars and wounds. Entering such a small, barely occupied room was nothing.
Yet, it didn’t feel like nothing. His muscles felt so heavy, and it would be so much easier to simply turn and walk away. There was a bar that he’d driven past. Such a thought made his mouth wet, and his fingers were already playing with themselves. Without understanding it, Tony noticed that he was already moving towards the exit of the building before stopping himself. He sighed, resting his head on a wall. He wasn’t a waste, and he had something to contribute. He knew, even if few others did. He could do so much more than he had already done, it was just a matter of addressing a few small issues. Issues that were nothing compared to Varnae. That was what Tony told himself as he forced himself towards the door again, each step feeling like his feet were encased with moving ants. His hand rested on the doorknob, his very sweaty hand. He didn’t realise he was sweating so much. He shouldn’t be there, he didn’t want to be. He had to be. It was an internal argument that repeated itself for almost a minute before a final memory hit him. The look of hurt on Janet’s face as he drunkenly insulted her. Tony opened the door.
It was a small classroom that had been cleared out. Only two dozen or so seats were placed in a circle, many of them unfilled. Tony said nothing as he slowly walked towards the nearest one, his head hung low. Many of the occupants stared at Tony with wide eyes, instantly recognising who the man was. They knew better than to say anything, especially with the organisation’s rules, but it was clear that the struggle not to gawk was difficult. Even the host of the evening, a young man with a button up white shirt and squared glasses, had his mouth opened slightly. It only made Tony grit his teeth and his flush of shame deepen. Whoever had been talking was silent, but a not-so-subtle grunt from the host encouraged the woman to continue talking. Tony was only half paying attention, his chest still feeling sick at the fact that he was even there. He was tempted to leave as the woman’s story continued. It was jagged, inconsistent. She was clearly thrown by the fact that Tony Stark of all people had arrived. The ants crawling on Tony’s feet had spread to his hands, and the sweating had not stopped.
Much to his utter horror, the weekly update from the woman had come to a close. There was a punctuated silence, followed by some mild commentary and support from the host. It was gentle and reassuring, and it all made Tony want to leave. He had developed endless energy, he didn’t need a pat on the back from someone who probably barely scrapped through community college on a church scholarship. Much to Tony’s chagrin, the man in question was slowly turning towards him. A polite, supportive smile was drawn on his face as he interlaced his fingers. Tony already desired nothing more than to punch the smile away from him.
“Well, we have a new friend today. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but this is a completely safe, supportive environment to help you break away from what’s damaging you and those around you. Now, given this is a place that respects privacy, we ask that nothing you’ve heard here tonight is shared beyond this room.”
The volume that he spoke at made it clear that he was also reminding the others in the room. Tony nodded, not knowing what else to say or do. The host continued to smile.
“Why don’t we all introduce ourselves? I’m Dave.”
“Carla.”
“Tom.”
“Zeke.”
Tony only half paid attention to the names, but managed a tight smile and a nod to each person that spoke to him. When it was silence once more, Tony felt his mouth become painfully dry. The ants were under his neck, almost making him wince. His mouth opened and closed several times, each time noticing how painful his mouth suddenly felt. With a slouched back and leaned over onto his knees, Tony stared out onto the floor as he forced himself to speak.
“My name is…Anthony,” He exhaled deeply, doing his best to push through the pain in his mouth and ants encasing his body, “and I, uh, have been drinking every single day since I was nineteen.”
***
The reliquary of the Sanctum Sanctorum howled slightly as Strange stood within it. The hunched man’s eyes were crossed into a severe glare of utter malice as he looked down upon the Cauldron of the Cosmos. Its green flames licked and cracked beneath him, humming with life as it sensed a familiar presence so close to it. Strange’s body began to sway. Everything had started from the damned creation. Strange’s obsession with it had arguably welcomed Varnae into the world once more. If he had only been stronger in resisting it…Strange shook his head, refusing to let himself sink into such thoughts anymore. He had made his mistakes and paid dearly for them. Anyone was a fool for not learning for their mistakes.
With a shaking hand, the sorcerer began to murmur a soft incarnation before the cauldron. As the spell drew on and on, like a gothic chant, the cauldron began to hiss. The flames grew and waved like branches in the wind. Desperation to avoid the spell grew and grew as it tried to latch onto Strange’s paranoia and desires. The man’s chants grew louder, more determined as the pain of listening to the cauldron’s predictions stung him worse than his car crash ever had. He would not be its slave, or let it ruin his life anymore. He needed something better, he had to be better. With that in mind, Strange continued the chant. The flames grew and grew until it began to form shapes. Strange’s eyes widened, and he hastened his words. Before he could complete it, the flames did their best to form a single image. The back of a woman’s head, with her hair appearing to be silver. Strange did not look at it as thick metal materialised around the Cauldron of the Cosmos. The blankets of metal soon clung to one another, forming a tight box around the artefact and sealing it such. Several very dark runes cut into the metal after that, further removing the chance of anyone opening it.
It was gone. Sealed away. Its lies would ruin no one else’s lives. Strange did not feel relieved or proud. He was still as resentful towards the artefact and himself, but he took some solace in the face that he would be the last victim. With one last glare, Strange whipped his hand, banishing the encased object within one of the vaults beneath the basement. It was gone, leaving Strange to do whatever he wanted.
Silence. The Sanctum was incredibly silent. For the first time in its entire history, there was only one occupant. Strange honestly didn’t know what to do with himself now that Varnae had been dealt with and the Avengers had disbanded. A hollow feeling struck him, making him feel rather heavy. He had always been a planner. From childhood to college to the Sanctum, he had always known most of the steps in front of him and where he wanted to go. Having actually survived Varnae, despite his honest prediction, he had no idea where to go from there. He had never planned such a thing at all. One step at a time, Strange crept towards the library. There was always study and training, he supposed. He would have a large amount of time for it, at any rate. One step by one step, Strang aimlessly walked until he found himself near the library.
The halls groaned. Strange frowned as several knocks echoed through the Sanctum. The man stopped, frowning as he turned to look down the hallway. It was a wooden sound, as if someone was knocking on something nearby. Paranoia gripped at the man. Without thinking, his fingers were already preparing a shield. It was the Cloak. The garb flew towards him with incredible speed. Before he could open his mouth, his hand was grabbed and tugged forwards.
“What…What is…Enough. I get it!” Strange barked, but the Cloak would not let go.
The magical fabric eagerly pulled the sorcerer towards the stairs as a second set of knocks vibrated through the Sanctum. Strange’s displeasure grew as he was almost thrown down the stairs, but so did his concern. Though, if it were an enemy, he doubted that they would bother with the politeness of knocking before attacking. As Strange landed on the ground floor, the Cloak finally let go and flew towards the front door, gesturing to it with excitement.
“Idiot.” The sorcerer grunted as he scowled.
With a deep, uneasy sigh, Strange opened the door. A very tall, lean Asian man was standing in front of him. He was almost as tall as Strange was, when he wasn’t hunched, with an unsettlingly stoic expression. He was slightly older than the sorcerer, perhaps middle aged, with no hair aside from some long wisps of excess eyebrow strands. He wore a thick fur coat with a large leather bag swung around one of his shoulders. He didn’t seem too surprised to see Strange, or if he was, he was hiding it well underneath his plain face. Even his amber eyes didn’t so much as flinch. Strange looked around, seeing if anyone was hiding and ready to strike him. It was just…the tall man.
“Can…Can I help you?”
A reply was shown in the form of the man extending his hand and opening it. An origami swan fluttered its wings in excitement as it saw Strange. The sorcerer’s eyes widened. An incredible feeling of relief and joy overcame him, so much so that he found it hard to walk or not cry. He even staggered back a single step before catching himself. His ecstatic emotions were suddenly tempered as he actually took in the man’s form. He certainly didn’t feel magical. In fact, the man seemed as much a sorcerer as Tony or Steve did. Perhaps he had learnt to hide them? What was more odd was the fact that Strange didn’t recognise him at all. He had only been to the American chapter of the order, but he had seen many images and paintings of other masters and their students.
“Come in, come in.” Strange remembered his manners.
The man nodded, stepping into the Sanctum and dropping his bag by the side. His eyes finally widened as he took in the magical building and its many halls and corridors. Such a reaction was only exasperated as the Cloak hovered near Strange. Still, the man said nothing, not even a question about the magical cloak.
“I’m…I’m sorry to ask this, but where are you from? I don’t recognise you.”
“Hong Kong.” The man replied with a very deep voice, ladened with an equally thick accent.
“Hong Kong. And…forgive me, but are you a master? An apprentice? A student? I don’t know how their chapter organised themselves.”
The man’s stoic face returned, seeming to be unimpressed by Strange’s lack of knowledge.
“I do not know.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I was asked by a master to join the order. Two days before I was meant to travel to the temple, a spell asked me to stay hidden at my home. I never heard anything for months. Then this,” He opened his palm once more for the swan to fly away into the Sanctum, “gave me your message. I do not know what happened to the master that approached me.”
Strange closed his eyes, quickly working out what had occurred. A bittersweet taste formed on his mouth, but he chose to ignore it.
“I’m sorry, but he’s dead. Most, if not everyone, is dead. They tried to stop a vampire and…they failed.”
The man’s jaw stiffened slightly, and he eyed his bag once more.
“The vampire is hunting sorcerers?”
“No.” Strange replied firmly, “He was defeated, along with a lot of his forces. My k…Our kind were…avenged.” Strange sighed, not wanting to open such a fresh wound, “But I can tell you that another time. What’s your name?”
“Wong.”
“Wong? Just…Wong?” There was no response, “Fair enough. I’m Stephen Strange. Well, I-”
“Are you the Sorcerer Supreme?”
The question made Strange blink several times. The bittersweet feeling returned, but once more Strange chose to ignore it.
“No, I’m not. But I am sorcerer.” Strange did his best to smile softly, “And I can teach you.”
Not knowing what else to do, Strange remembered the first time that he had been let into the Sanctum. Remembering it fondly, Strange’s small smile sweetened. His hand rested on Wong’s shoulder and began to guide him through the Sanctum. At Wong’s side was the Cloak, eager as always to welcome a new student.
“I know that you might be nervous or confused. I don’t know your story or how exposed to magic that you are, and you might have many questions or encountered countless mysteries about the mystic arts. Well here, in this Sanctum Sanctorum, we will work to answer those questions and solve those mysteries. Together.” Strange turned to look at Wong as his hand squeezed his shoulder tighter, “And I will do my best to make you a wise and strong sorcerer, and help you every step of the way. I promise.”
***
The chamber to the great artefact of Atlantis, the Cul’nir , had long since between abandoned. Many elements of the destroyed object had already been collected for study, as ordered by King Leonid. It left the chamber rather bear, only filled with slanted walls and toppled pillars. Only a few recovery teams had been sent, with none having been bothered to hide the bodies of the dead vampires in the days that had passed since great unity of the Avengers. A future team would collect them, and they were not exactly pressed for time. The entrance had been caved in once more, and they were doubtful that humans would somehow make it into the chamber and discover the existence of an entirely new culture and a separate species. Thus, dozens of lifeless bodies littered the darkness.
“Varnae!”
The hoarse, manic voice shrieked through the darkness. Amongst the shadows something was moving in a furious motion. Every step shook the man cloaked in white, his march barely forming a straight line as he tried to contain himself. As he travelled along one of the fallen pillars, his voice rang out once more.
“Varnae, you fucking nerd! Get the fuck out here, and face me!”
The cloaked man staggered forwards. Within both of his hands was something sharp and curved. Blades in the form of half-disks, the ends of which were pointed and steep. The garments that the being wore were tight white robes with a mild metal plating that covered every odd piece of his body. His face was covered in a white mask that seemed to make his exposed eyes glow pure white. The hood upon his forehead was pointed and sharp, only adding to the uncomfortable and intense nature that the man seemed to enjoy giving off to others.
“I said, get the fuck out here, Varnae!” The man screamed, kicking a boulder into a wall with a mighty crash, “I’ll only stab you once, and then again, and then again until you stop. Fucking. Moving.”
There was no answer. With increasing frustration, the man suddenly realised that he was surrounded by corpses with some rather bizarre wounds. Some looked burnt, others crushed, many covered in some strange webbing. The man took a step back, quickly away of the fact that Varnae was not within the chamber and, by the looks of the decaying bodies, he had not been for some days. It made no sense, however, for the man had pursued the vampire as soon as he pinpointed his location. He had only been travelling for two days. It was clear that whatever had happened had occurred before the man had even set out. An angered sigh left the shaking man, his weapons gripped even tighter than before.
A groan. The man hastily turned to the left before flying forth. Within a single second, his boot was on the throat of heaving vampire. His face was badly burnt, but he was still alive. His eyes were glassed and clearly struggled to focus on the man holding him down. Even as a weapon was held to his throat, the vampire didn’t seem to struggle any more or any less. With great patience, the man spoke through gritted teeth.
“Where the hell is Varnae?”
A thick cough escaped the vampire and he began to heave again. It took some time before any words could follow.
“The…The Avengers…happened.”
The man titled his head, trying to understand if he had missed some joke or something similar. The vampire appeared serious, albeit heavily disorientated. The man removed his weapon, but kept his boot on the vampire’s throat. He gave a mild shrug, baffled.
“What the fuck are the Avengers?”
***
A/N: Hi all! I hope you’re well, and enjoyed the story’s epilogue!
Thank you so much for the feedback and for reading this far along. It’s been really awesome, I hope it’s been fun and interesting. I also hope you enjoyed the character stories for everyone, and where they ended up (I also couldn’t resist a little Moonknight/Vampire rant, I have no idea if I’ll add him to the sequel).
Speaking of which, the sequel, ‘The People We Choose to Be’ (I changed the title, forgive me), already has its first chapter up, and please feel free to give it a read if you liked what I did with the characters. The Avengers will be dealing with a very different set of personal issues as they get older, made worse as they quickly get targeted one by one by the Masters of Evil (or, a grounded version of it, led by the Leader). Kudos to…for guessing the Leader and…for giving me the idea of the Masters of Evil.
Thanks for reading. If you have any feedback or ideas, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment, they make my week. Otherwise, have a great week and thanks for reading!
Fact of the chapter: We don’t really know why we put candles on birthday cakes, but there’s a theory that it links to the Greek goddess of the moon, Artemis. They put candles on ceremonial items and foods as a way of imitating the moon and its shadow.